-^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROUNA 

School   o  i    LibvRiy 
ScxencK 

J60e).8\ 
OVcoW 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00022226903 


J3oe.8l  366-9U7 

Olcott 

Story-tellin^  poems 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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A  VOICE   IX   THE   D.ARKXESS,  A    KXOCK  AT  THE   DOOR 


Story-telling  Poems 

Selected  and  Arranged 

For  Story-telling  and  Reading  Aloud 

and  for 

The  Children's  Own  Reading 


BY 

FRANCES  JENKINS  OLCOTT 

NEW  EDITION,  ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1913,    BY    FRANCES  JENKINS   OLCOTT 


ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 


aClje  iRiberaibe  ^ress 

CAMBRIDGE  .   MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


3 


TO 
CLARA   WHITEHILL   HUNT 


si) 


TO  THE   STORY-TELLER 

There  is  an  Inexhaustible  source  of  fine 
story-telling  material  to  be  found  in  narrative 
poetry.  Fables,  myths,  legends,  tales,  roman- 
tic or  historical  in  treatment,  are  told  in 
rhythmic  form,  and  often  in  a  logical  manner 
that  makes  it  easy  to  retell  the  plots. 

If  the  story-teller  learns  her  story  by  read- 
ing over  and  over  again  a  ballad  or  other 
story-telling  poem,  and  retells  the  same  in 
simple  prose  paraphrase,  she  will  find  that  her 
vocabulary  is  enriched,  and  that  the  rhythm 
of  the  original  lends  a  swing  and  added  charm 
to  her  prose  rendering  of  the  poem. 

After  the  story-hour  the  poem  should  be 
read  aloud  to  the  children,  and  they  should  be 
encouraged  to  read  it  for  themselves.  In  this 
way  the  ear  may  become  accustomed  to  poetic 
form  and  expression.  Under  the  direction  of  a 
wise  teacher,  who  knows  how  to  correlate 
her  story-telling  with  reading  aloud,  the  chil- 
dren may  be  led  from  the  enjoyment  of  purely 
narrative  poetry  to  an  appreciation  of  other 
forms  of  verse.  Thus  story-telling  poems  may 


vlli  To  THE  Story-Teller 

be  utilized  to  develop  and  feed  the  poetic 
instinct  of  children. 

In  this  volume  are  brought  together  fables, 
legends,  tales  of  humor  and  feeling,  of  fairy- 
lore  and  magic,  historical  stories,  parables, 
and  sacred  stories,  all  told  in  verse  of  varying 
merit. 

The  rhymes  and  poems  are  selected  for  their 
story-telling  qualities,  for  their  lively  interest 
to  children,  for  their  humorous,  imaginative, 
and  ethical  values,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  for 
their  literary  form. 

The  busy  teacher  has  little  time  in  which  to 
prepare  her  story,  and  the  young  story-teller 
is  confused  by  detail  that  leads  away  from  the 
plot  or  is  unsuitable  for  children.  To  meet 
these  needs  a  few  of  the  poems  have  been  con- 
densed and  several  others  expurgated. 

The  poems  are  grouped  under  subjects,  and, 
as  far  as  possible,  are  graded  so  that  they  may 
be  used  with  ease  in  the  class  rooms  of  grades 
one  to  eight.  A  full  subject  index  is  added  so 
that  the  story-teller  may  find,  at  a  glance,  lists 
of  poems  on  different  subjects.  For  example: 
under  the  heading  Christmas  may  be  found 
a  list  of  poems  suitable  for  use  at  that  season, 
and  under  Courage,  or  Truth-Telling,  are  en- 
tered poems  emphasizing  those  qualities. 

September,  1913. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The  compiler's  sincere  thanks  are  due  the 
following  publishers  and  authors  who  have 
allowed  the  publication  of  their  poems  in  this 
volume:  — 

To  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  for  permission  to  use 
"The  Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree,"  "The 
Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird,"  "The  White- 
footed  Deer,"  and  "The  Elm  and  the  Vine," 
by  William  CuUen  Bryant;  to  H.  M.  Caldwell 
Company  for  permission  to  use  "The  Rabbi 
and  the  Prince,"  by  James  Clarence  Harvey; 
to  Dana  Estes  &  Co.  for  permission  to  use 
"The  Fountain  of  Youth,"  by  Hezekiah  But- 
terworth;  to  Little,  Brown  &  Co.  for  permis- 
sion to  use  "King  Edwin's  Feast,"  by  John 
W.  Chadwick,  and  "The  Parable  of  St.  Chris- 
topher" (originally  published  in  St.  Nicholas 
Magazine),  by  Helen  Hunt  Jackson;  to  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  for  permission  to  use  "The 
Fairy  Boy,"  from  The  Fairy  Family;  to  The 
Macmillan  Company  for  permission  to  use 
"A  Legend  of  Toledo"  and  "Harmosan,"  by 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench;  to  G.  P.  Putnam's 


X  Acknowledgments 

Sons  for  permission  to  use  "Rodney's  Ride," 
by  E.  S.  Brooks;  to  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
for  permission  to  use  "  Brier-Rose,"  by  H.  H. 
Boyesen,  and  "The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  " 
and  "The  White  Stag,"  by  Eugene  Field; 
to  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for  permission 
to  use  many  of  the  poems  which  are  here  re- 
printed; to  Miss  Edith  M.  Thomas  for  permis- 
sion to  use  "  Babouscka"  (originally  published 
in  iS^.  Nicholas  Magazine),  from  The  Children 
of  Christmas,  published  by  Richard  G.  Badger; 
to  Mr.  Arthur  Guiterman  for  permission  to  use 
"Quivira." 

The  compiler  wishes  also  to  acknowledge 
here  her  indebtedness  to  Miss  Amena  Pendle- 
ton for  valuable  suggestions  and  for  her  aid  in 
the  compilation  of  this  volume. 

September,  1913. 


CONTENTS 

DEEDS  OF  RIGHT  AND  WRONG 

The  Ant  and  the  Cricket        Anonymous  3 
The  Story  of  Augustus  who  would  not 

HAVE  Any  Soup             Heinrich  Hoffmann  4 

The  Sluggard                                Isaac  Watts  6 

False  Alarms                       Adelaide  O'Keeffe  7 

Charley  the  Story-Teller  From  the  German  9 
The  Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child 

Adelhert  von  Chamisso  10 

A  Story  for  a  Child             Bayard  Taylor  13 

The  Sparrows                             Celia  Thaxter  15 

Greediness  Punished         Friedrich  Riickert  18 
God's  Judgment  on  a  Wicked  Bishop 

Robert  Southey  20 

The  White-footed  Deer         W.  C.  Bryant  23 

The  Inchcape  Rock                Robert  Southey  27 

The  Good  Man  of  Alloa         James  Hogg  30 
The  Elm  and  the  Vine 

W.  C.  Bryant,  from  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas  40 

The  Gourd  and  the  Palm         Anonymous  41 

The  Plucky  Prince                   May  Bryant  41 

Apple-Seed  John                          L.  M.  Child  46 


xii  Contents 

The  Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree 

W.  C.  Bryant,  from  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas  49 

The  Bell  of  Atri              H.  W.  Longfellow  50 

Tubal  Cain                               Charles  Mackay  55 

Brier-Rose                                H.  H.  Boyesen  58 
The  Knight's  Toast 

Attributed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  66 

The  Glove  and  the  Lions         Leigh  Hunt  69 

Opportunity                                      E.  R.  Sill  71 

YussouF                                          /.  R.  Lowell  72 

Jaffar                                                Leigh  Hunt  73 

Harmosan                                      R.  C.  Trench  75 

The  Two  Church-Builders         /.  G.  Saxe  jy 

Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper    /.  R.  Lowell  79 

FAIRIES,  MAGIC,  AND  MYSTERY 

The  Dorchester  Giant          0.  W.  Holmes  83 
The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low 

Mary  Howitt  85 

The  Fairy  Folk               William  Allingham  89 

The  Fairy  Queen                  Percy's  Reliques  91 

The  Fairy  Boy                    The  Fairy  Family  93 
The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin 

Robert  Browning  98 

Goblin  Market                    Christina  Rossetti  iii_ 

The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen  /.  G.  Whittier  125 


Contents  xiii 

The  Worme  of  Lambton  /.  Watson  132 

St.  George  and  the  Dragon      Old  Ballad  146 
The  Day-Dream  Alfred  Tennyson  152 

JOLLY  RHYMES  AND   POEMS 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  Edward  Lear  163 
The  Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird 

W.  C.  Bryant,  from  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas  164 
The  Old  Man  who  lived  in  a  Wood 

Old  Rhyme  165 
The  Enchanted  Shirt  John  Hay  167 

John  Gilpin  William  Cozvper  lyi 

The  White  Stag 

Eugene  Field,  from  the  German  of  Ludwig 
Uhland  181 

The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell  W.S.  Gilbert  182 
Faithless  Nelly  Gray  Thomas  Hood  186 

The  King  and  the  Miller  of  Mansfield 

Old  Ballad  189 
King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury 

Percy'' s  Reliques  196 
The  Well  of  St.  Keyne       Robert  Southey  202 

SAD   POEMS 

The  Babes  in  the  Wood    Percy's  Reliques  207 
The  Parrot  Thomas  Campbell  213 


xiv  Contents 

Beth-Gelert  W.  R.  Spencer  214 

The  Captain's  Daughter  /.  T.  Fields  218 

Alec  Yeaton's  Son  T.  B.  Aldrich  219 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 

H.  W.  Longfellow  222 
Lord  Ullin's  Daughter    Thomas  Campbell  226 

HISTORICAL   LEGENDS   AND   STORIES 

The  Continent,  England, 
and  the  United  States 

The  Leak  in  the  Dike  Phcebe  Cary  231 

The  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest 

H.  W.  Longfellow  237 
The  Nibelungen  Treasure 

H.  W.  Dulcken,  from  the  German  239 
Barbarossa 

H.  W.  Dulcken,  from  the  German  of  Friedrich 
Ruckert  240 

The  Richest  Prince 

H.  W.  Dulcken,  from  the  German  of  A.  J. 
Kerner  242 

The  Battle  of  Blenheim    Robert  Southey  243 
Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor  Boy 

Thomas  Campbell  246 
Incident  of  the  French  Camp 

Robert  Browning  249 


Contents  xv 

King  Canute  W.  M.  Thackeray  251 

King  Edwin's  Feast  /.  W.  Chadwick  254 

King  Alfred  the  Harper       John  Sterling  257 
Taillefer  the  Minstrel 

W.  W.  Skeat,  from  the  German  of  Ludwig 
Uhland  263 

The  Relief  of  Lucknow     R.  T.  S.  Lozoell  267 
The  Fountain  of  Youth 

Hezekiah  Butterzvorth  270 
Quivira  Arthur  Guiterman  274 

Pocahontas  W.  M.  Thackeray  279 

The  First  Thanksgiving  Day   M.  J.  Preston  281 
Rodney's  Ride  E.  S.  Brooks  283 

Paul  Revere's  Ride  H.  W.  Longfellow  286 

Reuben  James  /.  /.  Roche  292 

SACRED   STORIES  AND  LEGENDS 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne 

Eugene  Field  297 
Babouscka  E.  M.  Thomas  298 

The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher 

H.  H.  Jackson  301 
The  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs 

Fitz-James  O^Brien  310 
Good  King  Wenceslas  Old  Carol  313 

Brother  Hubert  Old  Legend  3 14 


xvi  Contents 

St.  Francis'  Sermon  to  the  Birds 

H.  W.  Longfellow  317 
The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 

William  Allingham  318 
The  Monk  of  Heisterbach 

C.   T.  Brooks,  from  the  German  of  K.  W. 

Muller  323 

A  Legend  of  Toledo  R.  C.  Trench  325 

King  Solomon  and  the  Bees      /.  G.  Saxe  '^I'j 
BiSMiLLAH  D.  L.  Proudfitt  330 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  Leigh  Hunt  332 

The  Burial  of  Moses  C.  F.  Alexander  333 

The  Mighty  Three  Anonymous  336 

The  Vision  of  Belshazzar         Lord  Byron  339 
The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib 

Lord  Byron  341 
The  Rabbi  and  the  Prince  /.  C.  Harvey  343 
King  Robert  of  Sicily  H.  W.  Longfellow  345 
Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book 

T.  B.  Aldrich  354 
Subject  Index  367 

Index  of  First  Lines  372 

Index  of  Titles  376 

Index  of  Authors  380 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  VOICE   IN  THE   DARKNESS,  A   KNOCK  AT  THE 

DOOR  {page  291)  Frontispiece 

He  WRAPPED  HER  WARM  IN  HIS  SEAMAn's  COAT    222 

The  Three  Kings  298 


Story-telling  Poems 
deeds  of  right  and  wrong 


STORY-TELLING 
POEMS 

THE  ANT  AND  THE  CRICKET 

A  SILLY  young  cricket,  accustomed  to  sing 
Through   the  warm,   sunny  months  of  gay 

summer  and  spring, 
Began  to  complain,  when  he  found  that  at  home 
His  cupboard  was  empty  and  winter  was  come. 

Not  a  crumb  to  be  found 

On  the  snow-covered  ground; 

Not  a  flower  could  he  see, 

Not  a  leaf  on  a  tree : 
*'0h,  what  will  become,"  says  the  cricket,  "of 
me?" 

At  last  by  starvation  and  famine  made  bold, 
All  dripping  with  wet  and  all  trembling  with 

cold, 
Away  he  set  off  to  a  miserly  ant. 
To  see  if,  to  keep  him  alive,  he  would  grant 
Him  shelter  from  rain; 
A  mouthful  of  grain 
He  wished  only  to  borrow, 
He'd  repay  it  to-morrow; 
If  not,  he  must  die  of  starvation  and  sorrow. 


4  Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Says  the  ant  to  the  cricket :  "  I  'm  your  servant 

and  friend, 
But  we  ants  never  borrow,  we  ants  never 

lend; 
But  tell  me,  dear  sir,  did  you  lay  nothing  by 
When   the   weather  was   warm?"    Said    the 
cricket,  "Not  I. 

My  heart  was  so  light 
That  I  sang  day  and  night, 
For  all  nature  looked  gay." 
"You  sang^  sir,  you  say? 
Go  then,"  said  the  ant,  "and  dance  winter 
away." 

Thus  ending,  he  hastily  lifted  the  wicket, 
And  out  of  the  door  turned  the  poor  little 

cricket. 
Though  this  Is  a  fable,  the  moral  Is  good: 
If  you  live  without  work,  you  must  live  with- 
out food. 

Anonymous. 

THE    STORY    OF    AUGUSTUS    WHO 
WOULD  NOT  HAVE  ANY  SOUP 

Augustus  was  a  chubby  lad: 
Fat  ruddy  cheeks  Augustus  had; 
And  everybody  saw  with  joy, 
The  plump  and  hearty,  healthy  boy. 


The  Story  of  Augustus  5 

He  ate  and  drank  as  he  was  told, 

And  never  let  his  soup  get  cold. 

But  one  day,  one  cold  winter's  day, 

He  scream'd  out  —  "Take  the  soup  away! 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day!" 

How  lank  and  lean  Augustus  grows! 
Next  day  he  scarcely  fills  his  clothes, 
Yet,  though  he  feels  so  weak  and  ill, 
The  naughty  fellow  cries  out  still  — 
*'Not  any  soup  for  me,  I  say! 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day!" 

The  third  day  comes;  oh!  what  a  sin! 
To  make  himself  so  pale  and  thin. 
Yet,  when  the  soup  is  put  on  table, 
He  screams,  as  loud  as  he  is  able: 
"Not  any  soup  for  me,  I  say! 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day!" 

Look  at  him,  now  the  fourth  day  's  come ! 
He  scarcely  weighs  a  sugar-plum; 
He's  like  a  little  bit  of  thread, 
And  on  the  fifth  day  he  is  —  dead  I 

Dr.  Heinrich  Hoffmanru 


6  Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

THE  SLUGGARD 

'T  IS  the  voice  of  the  sluggard;  I  heard  him 

complain, 
"  You  have  wak'd  me  too  soon,  I  must  slumber 

again;" 
As  the  door  on  its  hinges,  so  he  on  his  bed. 
Turns  his  sides,  and  his  shoulders,  and  his 

heavy  head. 

"A  little  more  sleep  and  a  little  more  slum- 
ber;" 

Thus  he  wastes  half  his  days,  and  his  hours 
without  number; 

And  when  he  gets  up  he  sits  folding  his 
hands, 

Or  walks  about  sauntering,  or  trifling  he 
stands. 

I  passed  by  his  garden,  and  saw  the  wild  brier. 
The  thorn  and  the  thistle  grow  broader  and 

higher; 
The  clothes  that  hang  on  him  are  turning  to 

rags; 
And  his  money  still  wastes,  till  he  starves  or 

he  begs. 

I  made  him  a  visit,  still  hoping  to  find 
That  he  took  better  care  for  improving  his 
mind; 


False  Alarms  7 

He  told  me  his  dreams,  talked  of  eating  and 

drinking; 
But  he  scarce  reads  his  Bible,  and  never  loves 

thinking. 

Said  I  then  to  my  heart:  "Here's  a  lesson  forme; 

This  man's  but  a  picture  of  what  I  might  be; 

But  thanks  to  my  friends  for  their  care  in  my 

breeding, 

Who  taught  me  betimes  to  love  working  and 

reading." 

Isaac  WatU. 

FALSE  ALARMS 

One  day  little  Mary  most  loudly  did  call: 

"Mamma!  O  mamma,  pray  come  here, 
A  fall  I  have  had,  oh!  a  very  sad  fall!" 

Mamma  ran  in  haste  and  in  fear. 
Then  Mary  jumped  up,  and  she  laughed  in 
great  glee, 

And  cried:  "Why,  how  fast  you  can  run! 
No  harm  has  befallen,  I  assure  you,  to  me, 

My  screaming  was  only  in  fun." 

Her  mother  was  busy  at  work  the  next  day, 
She  heard  from  without  a  loud  cry: 

"The  great  Dog  has  got  me!  O  help  me!  O 
pray! 
He  tears  me,  he  bites  me,  I  die!" 


,8  Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Mamma,  all  in  terror,  quick  to  the  court  flew, 
And  there  little  Mary  she  found; 

Who,  laughing,  said:  "Madam,  pray  how  do 
you  do?" 
And  curtseyed  quite  down  to  the  ground. 

That  night  little  Mary  was  some  time  in  bed. 

When  cries  and  loud  shrieking  were  heard : 
**I'm  on  fire,  O  mamma!  O  come  up,  or  I'm 
dead!" 

Mamma  she  believed  not  a  word. 
"Sleep,  sleep,  naughty  child,"  she  called  out 
from  below, 

*'How  often  have  I  been  deceived! 
You  are  telling  a  story,  you  very  well  know: 

Go  to  sleep,  for  you  can't  be  believed." 

Yet  still  the  child  screamed;  now  the  house 
filled  with  smoke. 
"That  fire  is  above,"  Jane  declares. 
Alas!  Mary's  words  they  soon  found  were  no 
joke. 
When  ev'ry  one  hastened  up-stairs. 
All  burnt  and  all  seamed  is  her  once  pretty 
face. 
And  terribly  marked  are  her  arms. 
Her  features  all  scarred,   leave  a  lasting  dis- 
grace. 
For  giving  mamma  false  alarms. 

Adelaide  O'Keefe. 


Charley,  the  Story-Teller  9 

CHARLEY,    THE    STORY-TELLER 

Charles  was  a  very  wayward  youth. 
Who  to  his  parents  ne'er  spoke  truth. 
"It  matters  not,"  thought  he,  "forsooth, 
When  no  one  knows;  if  I  tell  lies 
They  are  not  written  in  my  eyes!" 

His  mother  once  some  questions  asked, 
And  artful  Charles  his  cunning  tasked; 
When  loud  the  parrot  chuckling  cried: 
**You  little  rogue!  may  woe  betide! 

For,  Charley,  you've  been  fibbing!" 

Then  from  the  corner  comes  the  cat. 
And  gives  Mamma  a  gentle  pat: 
"Good  lady,  he's  deceiving  you." 
She  purrs  aloud,  "Mew,  mew,  mew,  mew! 
For  Charley  has  been  fibbing!" 

Down  stairs  now  frightened  Charley  steals, 
As  though  ten  cats  were  at  his  heels; 
When  by  his  coat  Tray  seizes  him, 
And  cries:  "Bow,  wow!"  in  accents  grim, 
"Fie,  Charley,  you've  been  fibbing!" 

Now  both  with  shame  and  anger  red 
That  e'en  the  cock  and  hens  upbraid, 
He  seeks  the  garden's  safe  retreat; 


10        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

But  twittering  birds  there  cry:  "Tweat,  tweat! 
Fie,  Charley,  you've  been  fibbing!" 

He  runs  at  last  from  out  the  town, 
And  near  a  village  sits  him  down; 
But  even  there  a  fly  soon  comes, 
Who  buzzes  round  his  nose  and  hums: 
"Fie,  Charley,  you've  been  fibbing!'* 

He  now  the  blessed  world  runs  round, 
But  rest  for  him  is  nowhere  found; 
Go  where  he  will,  his  ears  still  greet: 
"Mew,   mew  —  bow,  wow  —  buzz,   buzz  — 
tweat,  tweat! 
Fie,  Charley,  you've  been  fibbing!" 

From  the  German. 

THE  TOY   OF   THE   GIANT'S   CHILD 

Burg  Niedeck  is  a  mountain  in  Alsace,  high 

and  strong, 
Where  once  a  noble  castle  stood,  —  the  Giants 

held  it  long; 
Its  very  ruins  now  are  lost,  its  site  is  waste 

and  lone. 
And  if  ye  seek  for  Giants  there,  they  all  are 

dead  and  gone. 

The  Giant's  daughter  once  came  forth  the 
castle-gate  before, 


The  Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child     ii 

And  played,  with  all  a  child's  delight,  beside 

her  father's  door; 
Then  sauntering  down  the  precipice,  the  girl 

did  gladly  go, 
To  see,  perchance,  how  matters  went,  in  the 

little  world  below. 

With  few  and  easy  steps  she  passed  the  moun- 
tain and  the  wood. 

At  length  near  Haslach,  at  the  place  where 
mankind  dwelt,  she  stood; 

And  many  a  town  and  village  fair,  and  many  a 
field  so  green, 

Before  her  wondering  eyes  appeared,  a  strange 
and  curious  scene. 

And  as  she  gazed,  in  wonder  lost,  on  all  the 

scene  around, 
She  saw  a  Peasant  at  her  feet,  a-tilling  of  the 

ground ; 
The  little  creature  crawled  about  so  slowly  here 

and  there, 
And,  lighted  by  the  morning  sun,  his  plough 

shone  bright  and  fair. 

"Oh,  pretty  plaything!"  cried  the  child,  "I'll 

take  thee  home  with  me." 
Then  with  her  infant  hands  she  spread  her 

kerchief  on  her  knee, 


12        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

And  cradling  horse,  and  man,  and   plough, 

all  gently  on  her  arm. 
She  bore  them  home,  with  cautious  steps, 

afraid  to  do  them  harm. 

She  hastes  with  joyous  steps  and  quick;  — 

(we  know  what  children  are). 
And  spying  soon  her  father  out,  she  shouted 

from  afar, 
"O  father,  dearest  father,  such  a  plaything  I 

have  found, 
I  never  saw  so  fair  a  one  on  our  own  mountain 

ground." 

Her  father  sat  at  table  then,  and  drank  his 

wine  so  mild. 
And,  smiling  with  a  parent's  smile,  he  asked 

the  happy  child: 
"What  struggling  creature  hast  thou  brought 

so  carefully  to  me? 
Thou   leap'st  for  very  joy,   my  girl;  come, 

open,  let  us  see." 

She  opes  her  kerchief  carefully,  and  gladly, 
you  may  deem, 

And  shows  her  eager  sire  the  plough,  the  Peas- 
ant, and  his  team; 

And  when  she'd  placed  before  his  sight  the 
new-found  pretty  toy, 


A  Story  FOR  a  Child  13 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  screamed  aloud, 
and  cried  for  very  joy. 

But  her  father  looked  quite  seriously,  and 

shaking  slow  his  head: 
"What   hast   thou    brought   me   home,   my 

child?  This  is  no  toy,"  he  said, 
"Go,  take  it  quickly  back  again,  and  put  it 

down  below; 
The   Peasant   is   no   plaything,   girl,  —  how 

could'st  thou  think  him  so? 

"Go,  go,  without  a  sigh  or  sob,  and  do  my 

will,"  he  said, 
"For  know,  without  the  Peasant,   girl,  we 

none  of  us  had  bread; 
'T  is  from  the  Peasant's  hardy  stock  the  race 

of  Giants  are; 
The  Peasant  is  no  plaything,  child,  —  no,  — • 

God  forbid  he  were!" 
From  the  German  of  Adelbert  von  Chamisso, 


A   STORY    FOR   A   CHILD 

Little  one,  come  to  my  knee! 

Hark,  how  the  rain  is  pouring 
Over  the  roof,  in  the  pitch-black  night, 

And  the  wind  in  the  woods  a-roaring! 


14       Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Hush,  my  darling,  and  listen, 

Then  pay  for  the  story  with  kisses; 

Father  was  lost  in  the  pitch-black  night, 
In  just  such  a  storm  as  this  is! 

High  up  on  the  lonely  mountains, 

Where  the  wild  men  watched  and  waited; 

Wolves  in  the  forest,  and  bears  in  the  bush. 
And  I  on  my  path  belated. 

The  rain  and  the  night  together 

Came  down,  and  the  wind  came  after, 

Bending  the  props  of  the  pine-tree  roof. 
And  snapping  many  a  rafter. 

I  crept  along  in  the  darkness. 

Stunned,  and  bruised,  and  blinded,  — 

Crept  to  a  fir  with  thick-set  boughs, 
And  a  sheltering  rock  behind  it. 

There,  from  the  blowing  and  raining. 
Crouching,  I  sought  to  hide  me: 

Something  rustled,  two  green  eyes  shone. 
And  a  wolf  lay  down  beside  me. 

Little  one,  be  not  frightened; 

I  and  the  wolf  together. 
Side  by  side,  through  the  long,  long  night 

Hid  from  the  awful  weather. 


The  Sparrows  15 

His  wet  fur  pressed  against  me; 

Each  of  us  warmed  the  other; 
Each  of  us  felt,  in  the  stormy  dark, 

That  beast  and  man  was  brother. 

And  when  the  falling  forest 
No  longer  crashed  in  warning, 

Each  of  us  went  from  our  hiding-place 
Forth  in  the  wild,  wet  morning. 

Darling,  kiss  me  in  payment! 

Hark,  how  the  wind  is  roaring; 
Father's  house  is  a  better  place 

When  the  stormy  rain  is  pouring! 

Bayard  Taylor, 

THE  SPARROWS 

In  the  far-off  land  of  Norway, 

Where  the  winter  lingers  late, 
And  long  for  the  singing-birds  and  flowers 

The  little  children  wait; 

When  at  last  the  summer  ripens 

And  the  harvest  is  gathered  in. 
And  food  for  the  bleak,  drear  days  to  come 

The  toiling  people  win; 

Through  all  the  land  the  children 
In  the  golden  fields  remain 


l6         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Till  their  busy  little  hands  have  gleaned 
A  generous  sheaf  of  grain ; 

All  the  stalks  by  the  reapers  forgotten 

They  glean  to  the  very  least, 
To  save  till  the  cold  December, 

For  the  sparrows'  Christmas  feast. 

And  then  through  the  frost-locked  country 
There  happens  a  wonderful  thing:  - 

The  sparrows  flock  north,  south,  east,  west, 
For  the  children's  offering. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  day  before  Christmas, 

The  twittering  crowds  arrive. 
And  the  bitter,  wintry  air  at  once 

With  their  chirping  is  all  alive. 

They  perch  upon  roof  and  gable, 

On  porch  and  fence  and  tree. 
They  flutter  about  the  windows 

And  peer  in  curiously. 

And  meet  the  eyes  of  the  children, 

Who  eagerly  look  out 
With  cheeks  that  bloom  like  roses  red, 

And  greet  them  with  welcoming  shout. 

On  the  joyous  Christmas  morning, 
In  front  of  every  door 


The  Sparrows  17 

A  tall  pole,  crowned  with  clustering  grain. 
Is  set  the  birds  before. 

And  which  are  the  happiest,  truly 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell; 
The   sparrows   who   share  in  the  Christmas 
cheer, 

Or  the  children  who  love  them  well! 

How  sweet  that  they  should  remember, 

With  faith  so  full  and  sure, 
That  the  children's  bounty  awaited  them 

The  whole  wide  country  o'er! 

When  this  pretty  story  was  told  me 

By  one  who  had  helped  to  rear 
The  rustling  grain  for  the  merry  birds 

In  Norway,  many  a  year, 

I  thought  that  our  little  children 

Would  like  to  know  it  too, 
It  seems  to  me  so  beautiful, 

So  blessed  a  thing  to  do, 

To  make  God's  Innocent  creatures  see 

In  every  child  a  friend. 
And  on  our  faithful  kindness 

So  fearlessly  depend. 

Celia  Thaxttr. 


i8        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

GREEDINESS  PUNISHED 

It  was  the  cloister  Grabow,  in  the  land  of 

Usedom, 
For  years  had  God's  free  goodness  to  fill  its 

larder  come: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

Along  the  shore  came  swimming,  to  give  the 

folks  good  cheer, 
Who  dwelt  within   the  cloister,   two  fishes 

every  year: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

Two  sturgeons  —  two  great  fat  ones;  —  and 

then  this  law  was  set, 
That  one  of  them  should  yearly  be  taken  in  a 

net: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

The  other  swam  away,  then,  until  next  year 

came  round. 
When,  with  a  new  companion,  he  punctually 

was  found: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

So  then  again,  they  caught  one,  and  served 
him  in  the  dish, 


Greediness  Punished  19 

And  regularly  caught  they,  year  in,  year  out, 
a  fish: 
They  might  have  been  contented! 

The  year,  the  time  appointed  two  such  noble 

fishes  brought, 
The  question  was  a  hard  one,  which  of  them 

should  be  caught: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

They  caught  them  both  together  —  but  every 

greedy  wight 
Grew  sick  from  over-eating  —  it  served  the 

gluttons  right ;  — 

They  might  have  been  contented ! 

This  was  the  least  of  sorrows  —  hear  how  the 

cup  ran  o'er! 
Henceforward,  to  the  cloister  no  fish  came 

swimming  more: 

They  might  have  been  contented! 

So  long  had  God  supplied  them  of  his  free 

grace  alone, 
That,  now  it  is  denied  them,  the  fault  is  all 

their  own : 

They  might  have  been  contented ! 

From  the  German  of  Friedrich  Ruckert. 


20        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

GOD'S    JUDGMENT    ON    A    WICKED 
BISHOP 

The  summer  and  autumn  had  been  so  wet 
That  in  winter  the  corn  was  growing  yet: 
'T  was  a  piteous  sight  to  see,  all  around, 
The  grain  lie  rotting  on  the  ground. 

Every  day  the  starving  poor 
Crowded  around  Bishop  Hatto's  door; 
For  he  had  a  plentiful  last  year's  store, 
And  all  the  neighborhood  could  tell 
His  granaries  were  furnished  well. 

At  last  Bishop  Hatto  appointed  a  day 
To  quiet  the  poor  without  delay: 
He  bade  them  to  his  great  barn  repair, 
And  they  should  have  food  for  the  winter 
there. 

Rejoiced  such  tidings  good  to  hear. 
The  poor  folk  flocked  from  far  and  near; 
The  great  barn  was  full  as  it  could  hold 
Of  women  and  children,  and  young  and  old. 

Then,  when  he  saw  it  could  hold  no  more. 
Bishop  Hatto  he  made  fast  the  door; 
And  while  for  mercy  on  Christ  they  call. 
He  set  fire  to  the  barn,  and  burnt  them  all. 


God's  Judgment  on  a  Wicked  Bishop  21 

"r  faith  't  Is  an  excellent  bonfire!"  quoth  he, 
"And  the  country  is  greatly  obliged  to  me 
For  ridding  it,  in  these  times  forlorn, 
Of  rats  that  only  consume  the  corn." 

So  then  to  his  palace  returned  he. 

And  he  sat  down  to  supper  merrily, 

And  he  slept  that  night  like  an  innocent  man; 

But  Bishop  Hatto  never  slept  again. 

In  the  morning,  as  he  entered  the  hall 
Where  his  picture  hung  against  the  wall, 
A  sweat  like  death  all  over  him  came. 
For  the  rats  had  eaten  it  out  of  the  frame. 

As  he  looked,  there  came  a  man  from  his  farm; 
He  had  a  countenance  white  with  alarm: 
"My  lord,  I  opened  your  granaries  this  morn, 
And  the  rats  had  eaten  all  your  corn." 

Another  came  running  presently. 
And  he  was  pale  as  pale  could  be: 
"Fly!  my  lord  bishop,  fly!"  quoth  he. 
"Ten  thousand  rats  are  coming  this  way: 
The  Lord  forgive  you  for  yesterday!" 

"  I  '11  go  to  my  tower  on  the  Rhine,"  replied  he; 
"  'Tis  the  safest  place  in  Germany; 
The  walls  are  high,  and  the  shores  are  steep, 
And  the  stream  is  strong,  and  the  water  deep." 


22       Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Bishop  Hatto  fearfully  hastened  away, 
And  he  crossed  the  Rhine  without  delay, 
And    reached   his    tower,    and    barred    with 

care 
All  windows,  doors,  and  loop-holes  there. 

He  laid  him  down  and  closed  his  eyes,  — 
But  soon  a  scream  made  him  arise, 
He  started,  and  saw  two  eyes  of  flame 
On  his  pillow,   from  whence  the  screaming 
came. 

He  listened  and  looked;  it  was  only  the  cat; 
But  the  Bishop  he  grew  more  fearful  for  that, 
For  she  sat  screaming,  mad  with  fear 
At  the  army  of  rats  that  were  drawing  near. 

For  they  have  swam  over  the  river  so  deep,^ 
And  they  have  climbed  the  shores  so  steep, 
And  up  the  tower  their  way  is  bent 
To  do  the  work  for  which  they  were  sent. 

They  are  not  to  be  told  by  the  dozen  or 

score, 
By  thousands  they  come,  and  by  myriads  and 

more; 
Such  numbers  had  never  been  heard  of  before, 
Such  a  judgment  had  never  been  witnessed  of 

yore. 


The  White-footed  Deer  23 

Down  on  his  knees  the  Bishop  fell, 
And  faster  and  faster  his  beads  did  tell. 
As  louder  and  louder  drawing  near 
The  gnawing  of  their  teeth  he  could  hear. 

And  in  at  the  windows,  and  in  at  the  door, 
And   through   the   walls   helter-skelter  they 

pour, 
And  down  from  the  ceiling,  and  up  through 

the  floor. 
From  the  right  and  the  left,  from  behind  and 

before. 
From  within  and  without,  from  above  and 

below, 
And  all  at  once  to  the  Bishop  they  go. 

They  have  whetted  their  teeth  against  the 

stones, 
And  now  they  pick  the  Bishop's  bones; 
They  gnawed  the  flesh  from  every  limb, 
For  they  were  sent  to  do  judgment  on  him. 

Robert  Southey. 

THE  WHITE-FOOTED  DEER 

It  was  a  hundred  years  ago. 
When,  by  the  woodland  ways, 

The  traveller  saw  the  wild-deer  drink, 
Or  crop  the  birchen  sprays. 


24         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Beneath  a  hill,  whose  rocky  side 

O'erbrowed  a  grassy  mead, 
And  fenced  a  cottage  from  the  wind, 

A  deer  was  wont  to  feed. 

She  only  came  when  on  the  cliffs 

The  evening  moonlight  lay, 
And  no  man  knew  the  secret  haunts 

In  which  she  walked  by  day. 

White  were  her  feet,  her  forehead  showed 

A  spot  of  silvery  white. 
That  seemed  to  glimmer  like  a  star 

In  autumn's  hazy  night. 

And  here,  when  sang  the  whippoorwill, 
She  cropped  the  sprouting  leaves. 

And  here  her  rustling  steps  were  heard 
On  still  October  eves. 

But  when  the  broad  midsummer  moon 

Rose  o'er  that  grassy  lawn, 
Beside  the  silver-footed  deer 

There  grazed  a  spotted  fawn. 

The  cottage  dame  forbade  her  son 
To  aim  the  rifle  here; 
"It  were  a  sin,"  she  said,  "to  harm 
Or  fright  that  friendly  deer. 


The  White-footed  Deer  25 

"This  spot  has  been  my  pleasant  home 
Ten  peaceful  years  and  more; 
And  ever,  when  the  moonlight  shines, 
She  feeds  before  our  door. 

**The  red-men  say  that  here  she  walked 
A  thousand  moons  ago; 
They  never  raise  the  war-whoop  here, 
And  never  twang  the  bow. 

**I  love  to  watch  her  as  she  feeds, 
And  think  that  all  is  well 
While  such  a  gentle  creature  haunts 
The  place  in  which  we  dwell." 

The  youth  obeyed,  and  sought  for  game 

In  forests  far  away, 
Where,  deep  in  silence  and  in  moss, 

The  ancient  woodland  lay. 

But  once,  in  autumn's  golden  time 

He  ranged  the  wild  in  vain, 
Nor  roused  the  pheasant  nor  the  deer. 

And  wandered  home  again. 

The  crescent  moon  and  crimson  eve 

Shone  with  a  mingling  light; 
The  deer,  upon  the  grassy  mead, 

Was  feeding  full  in  sight. 


26        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

He  raised  the  rifle  to  his  eye, 

And  from  the  cliff's  around 
A  sudden  echo,  shrill  and  sharp, 

Gave  back  its  deadly  sound. 

Away,  Into  the  neighboring  wood, 

The  startled  creature  flew, 
And  crimson  drops  at  morning  lay 

Amid  the  glimmering  dew. 

Next  evening  shone  the  waxing  moon 

As  brightly  as  before; 
The  deer  upon  the  grassy  mead 

Was  seen  again  no  more. 

But  ere  that  crescent  moon  was  old, 

By  night  the  red-men  came, 
And  burnt  the  cottage  to  the  ground, 

And  slew  the  youth  and  dame. 

Now  woods  have  overgrown  the  mead. 
And  hid  the  cliffs  from  sight; 

There  shrieks  the  hovering  hawk  at  noon. 
And  prowls  the  fox  at  night. 

William  Cullen  Bryant, 


The  Inchcape  Rock  27 

THE  INCHCAPE  ROCK 

No  stir  In  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea, 
The  ship  was  still  as  she  could  be; 
Her  sails  from  heaven  received  no  motion; 
Her  keel  was  steady  In  the  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  their  shock, 
The  waves  flow'd  over  the  Inchcape  Rock; 
So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell, 
They  did  not  move  the  Inchcape  Bell. 

The  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok 
Had  placed  that  Bell  on  the  Inchcape  Rock; 
On  a  buoy  in  the  storm  It  floated  and  swung, 
And  over  the  waves  its  warning  rung. 

When  the  Rock  was  hid  by  the  surge's  swell. 
The  mariners  heard  the  warning  Bell; 
And  then  they  knew  the  perilous  Rock, 
And  blest  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok. 

The  Sun  in  heaven  was  shining  gay; 

All  things  were  joyful  on  that  day; 

The  sea-birds  scream'd  as  they  wheel'd  round. 

And  there  was  joyaunce  in  their  sound. 

The  buoy  of  the  Inchcape  Bell  was  seen 
A  darker  speck  on  the  ocean  green; 


28         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  walk'd  his  deck, 
And  he  fix'd  his  eye  on  the  darker  speck. 

He  felt  the  cheering  power  of  spring; 
It  made  him  whistle,  it  made  him  sing; 
His  heart  was  mirthful  to  excess, 
But  the  Rover's  mirth  was  wickedness. 

His  eye  was  on  the  Inchcape  float; 
Quoth  he:  "My  men,  put  out  the  boat, 
And  row  me  to  the  Inchcape  Rock, 
And  I  '11  plague  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok." 

The  boat  is  lower'd,  the  boatmen  row, 
And  to  the  Inchcape  Rock  they  go; 
Sir  Ralph  bent  over  from  the  boat. 
And   he   cut    the   Bell   from    the    Inchcape 
float. 

Down  sunk  the  Bell  with  a  gurgling  sound; 

The  bubbles  rose  and  burst  around; 

Quoth  Sir  Ralph :  "The  next  who  comes  to  the 

Rock 
Won't  bless  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok." 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  sail'd  away; 
He  scour'd  the  seas  for  many  a  day; 
And  now,  grown  rich  with  plunder'd  store, 
He  steers  his  course  for  Scotland's  shore. 


The  Inchcape  Rock  29 

So  thick  a  haze  o'erspreads  the  sky; 
They  cannot  see  the  Sun  on  high; 
The  wind  hath  blown  a  gale  all  day; 
At  evening  it  hath  died  away. 

On  the  deck  the  Rover  takes  his  stand; 
So  dark  it  is  they  see  no  land. 
Quoth  Sir  Ralph:  "It  will  be  lighter  soon, 
For  there  is  the  dawn  of  the  rising  Moon." 

"Canst  hear,"  said  one,  "the  breakers  roar.? 
For  methinks  we  should  be  near  the  shore." 
"Now  where  we  are  I  cannot  tell. 
But  I  wish  I  could  hear  the  Inchcape  Bell." 

They  hear  no  sound;  the  swell  is  strong; 
Though  the  wind  hath  fallen  they  drift  along, 
Till  the  vessel  strikes  with  a  shivering  shock, 
"0  Christ!  it  is  the  Inchcape  Rock!" 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  tore  his  hair; 
He  curst  himself  in  his  despair; 
The  waves  rush  in  on  every  side; 
The  ship  is  sinking  beneath  the  tide. 

But  even  in  his  dying  fear 
One  dreadful  sound  could  the  Rover  hear  — - 
A  sound  as  if  with  the  Inchcape  Bell 
The  Devil  below  was  ringing  his  knell. 

Robert  Southey. 


30        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

THE  GOOD  MAN  OF  ALLOA 

Did  you  never  hear  of  a  queer  auld  man, 

A  very  strange  man  was  he, 
Who  dwelt  on  the  bonnie  banks  of  Forth, 

In  a  town  full  dear  to  me? 

One  day  he  sat  on  a  lonely  brae, 

And  sorely  he  made  his  moan, 
For  his  youthful  days  had  pass'd  away, 

And  ronkilt  age  came  on. 

"Ochone,  ochone!"  quod  the  poor  auld  man, 
"Where  shall  I  go  lay  mine  head? 

For  I  am  weary  of  this  world, 
And  I  wish  that  I  were  dead. 

'*  For,  though  I  have  toil'd  these  seventy  years, 

Wasting  both  blood  and  bone, 
Striving  for  riches  as  for  life. 

Yet  riches  I  have  none. 

"Oh,  woe  is  me!  for  all  my  toil. 

And  all  my  dear-bought  gains. 
Yet  must  I  die  a  cauldrife  death. 

In  poverty  and  pains! 

*'0h!  where  are  all  my  riches  gone, 
Where,  or  to  what  country! 


The  Good  Man  of  Alloa  31 

There  is  gold  enough  into  this  world, 
But  none  of  it  made  for  me. 

**Yet  Providence  was  sore  misled, 

My  riches  to  destroy, 
Else  many  a  poor  and  virtuous  heart 

Should  have  had  cause  of  joy." 

Then  the  poor  auld  man  laid  down  his  head, 

And  rairit  for  very  grief, 
And  streikit  out  his  limbs  to  die; 

For  he  knew  of  no  relief. 

But  bye  there  came  a  lovely  dame. 

Upon  a  palfrey  gray, 
And  she  listen'd  unto  the  auld  man's  tale 

And  all  he  had  to  say. 

Of  all  his  griefs,  and  sore  regret. 

For  things  that  him  befell. 
And  because  he  could  not  feed  the  poor. 

Which  thing  he  loved  so  well. 

"It  is  great  pity,"  quod  the  dame, 

"That  one  so  very  kind. 
So  full  of  charity  and  love, 

And  of  such  virtuous  mind, 

"Should  lie  and  perish  on  a  brae, 
Of  poverty  and  eild, 


32         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Without  one  single  hand  to  prove 
His  solace  and  his  shield." 

She  took  the  auld  man  her  behind 

Upon  her  palfrey  gray, 
And  swifter  nor  the  southland  wind 

They  scour'd  the  velvet  brae. 

And  the  palfrey's  tail  behind  did  sail 

O'er  locker  and  o'er  lea; 
While  the  tears  stood  In  the  auld  man's  eyne, 

With  swiftness  and  with  glee; 

For  the  comely  dame  had  promised  him 

Of  riches  mighty  store, 
That  his  kind  heart  might  have  full  scope 

For  feeding  of  the  poor. 

'"Keep  thou  thy  seat,"  said  the  comely  dame, 
"And  conscience  clear  and  stenne; 

There  is  plenty  of  gold  In  the  sea's  bottom 
To  enrich  ten  thousand  men. 

"Ride  on  with  me,  and  thou  shalt  see 

What  treasures  there  do  lie; 
For  I  can  gallop  the  emerald  wave, 

And  along  its  channels,  dry." 

And  away  and  away  flew  the  comely  dame 
O'er  moorland  and  o'er  fell; 


The  Good  Man  of  Alloa  33 

But  whether  they  went  north  or  south, 
The  auld  man  could  not  tell. 

And  the  palfrey's  tail  behind  did  sail, 

A  comely  sight  to  see, 
Like  little  wee  comet  of  the  dale 

Gaun  skimmering  o'er  the  lea. 

When  the  auld  man  came  to  the  salt  sea's 
brink, 

He  quaked  at  the  ocean  faem; 
But  the  palfrey  splash  'd  into  the  same. 

As  it  were  its  native  hame. 

And  the  little  wee  palfrey  shot  away. 

Like  dragon's  fiery  train. 
And  up  the  wave,  and  down  the  wave, 

Like  meteor  of  the  main. 

And  its  streaming  tail  behind  did  sail 

With  shimmer  and  with  sheen; 
And  whenever   it   struck  the   mane  of  the 
wave, 

The  flashes  of  fire  were  seen. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!  my  bonnie  gray!" 

Cried  the  Maiden  of  the  Sea; 
*'Ha!  thou  canst  sweep  the  emerant  deep 

Swifter  nor  bird  can  flee! 


34        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

"For  thou  wast  bred  in  a  coral  bed, 

Beneath  a  silver  sun, 
Where  the  broad  daylight,  or  the  moon  by 
night, 

Could  never,  never  won! 

**Away!  away!  my  bonnie  gray! 

Where  billows  rock  the  dead, 
And  where  the  richest  prize  lies  low, 

In  all  the  ocean's  bed." 

And  as  ever  you  saw  a  moudiwort 

Bore  into  a  foggy  lea, 
So  did  this  little  devilish  beast 

Dive  down  into  the  sea. 

The  good  auld  man  he  gave  a  rair 

As  loud  as  he  could  strain: 
But  the  waters  closed  aboon  his  head, 

And  down  he  went  amain: 

But  he  neither  blutherit  with  his  breath, 

Nor  gaspit  with  his  ganne, 
And  not  one  drop  of  salt  water 

Adown  his  thropple  ran. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  gallant  ship, 

In  the  channels  of  the  sea, 
That  leant  her  shoulder  to  a  rock, 

With  her  masts  full  sore  aglee. 


The  Good  Man  of  Alloa  35 

It  was  plain  as  plain  could  be, 

From  all  they  saw  around, 
That  the  ship  had  gone  down  to  the  deep, 

Without  one  warning  sound. 

And  there  lay  many  a  gallant  man, 

Rock'd  by  the  moving  main; 
And  soundly,  soundly  did  they  sleep, 

Never  to  wake  again. 

So  calmly  they  lay  on  their  glitty  beds. 

And  in  their  hammocks  swung, 
And  the  billows  rock'd  their  drowsy  forms, 

And  over  their  cradles  sung. 

And  there  was  laid  a  royal  maid. 

As  calm  as  if  in  heaven. 
Who  had  three  gold  rings  on  each  finger, 

On  her  mid  finger  seven. 

And  she  had  jewels  in  her  ears, 

And  bracelets  brave  to  see; 
The  gold  that  was  around  her  head 

Would  have  bought  earldoms  three. 

Then  the  good  auld  man  pull'd  out  his  knife — 
It  was  both  sharp  and  clear,  — 

And  he  cut  off  the  maiden's  fingers  small. 
And  the  jewels  from  ilka  ear. 


36         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

"Oh,  shame!  oh,  shame!"  said  the  Comely 
Dame, 

"Woe  worth  thy  ruthless  hand! 
How  da  rest  thou  mangle  a  royal  corpse, 

Once  flower  of  many  a  land  ? 

"And  all  for  the  sake  of  trinkets  vain, 

'Mid  such  a  store  as  this!" 
"Ochone,  alake!"  quod  the  good  auld  man, 

"You  judge  full  far  amiss; 

"It  is  better  they  feed  the  righteous  poor, 

That  on  their  God  depend, 
Than  to  lie  slumbering  in  the  deep 

For  neither  use  nor  end!" 

Then  the  Sea  Maid  smiled  a  doubtful  smile, 

And  said,  with  lifted  ee,  — 
"Full  many  a  righteous  man  I  have  seen, 

But  never  a  one  like  thee!" 

"But  thou  shalt  have  thine  heart's  desire, 

In  feeding  the  upright; 
And  all  the  good  shall  bless  the  day, 

That  first  thou  saw  the  light." 

Then  she  loaded  him  with  gems  and  gold, 

On  channel  of  the  main; 
Yet  the  good  auld  man  was  not  content, 

But  turn'd  him  back  again. 


The  Good  Man  of  Alloa  37 

And  every  handful  he  put  in, 

He  said  right  wistfullye, 
"Och,  this  will  ane  whole  fortune  prove 

For  one  poor  familye." 

And  he  neifuit  in,  and  he  neifuit  in, 

And  never  could  refrain, 
Quhill  the  little  wee  horse  he  could  not  move. 

Nor  mount  the  wave  again. 

"Come  away,  come  away,  my  little  bonnie 
_  gray, 

Think  of  the  good  before; 
There  is  as  much  gold  upon  thy  back 

As  will  feed  ten  thousand  poor!" 

Then  the  little  wee  horse  he  strauchlit  on. 
Through  darkling  scenes  sublime  — 

O'er  shoals,  and  stones,  and  dead  men's 
bones, 
But  the  wave  he  could  not  climb; 

But  along,  along,  he  sped  along 

The  floors  of  the  silent  sea, 
With  a  world  of  waters  o'er  his  head, 

And  groves  of  the  coral  tree. 

And  the  tide  stream  flow'd,  and  the  billows 
row'd 
An  hundred  fathoms  high; 


38         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

And  the  light  that  lighted  the  floors  below 
Seem'd  from  some  other  sky. 

But  at  length  the  May,  and  her  palfrey  grayi 

And  the  good  auld  man  beside, 
Set  their  three  heads  aboon  the  wave, 

And  came  in  with  the  flowing  tide. 

When  the  little  wee  horse  he  found  his  feet 
On  the  firm  ground  and  the  dry, 

He  shook  his  mane,  and  gave  a  graen, 
And  threw  his  heels  on  high. 

"Now  fare  thee  well,  thou  good  auld  man, 

Thy  promise  keep  in  mind; 
Let  this  great  wealth  I  have  given  to  thee 

Be  a  blessing  to  thy  kind. 

"So  as  thou  strive  so  shalt  thou  thrive, 

And  be  it  understood 
That  I  must  visit  thee  again, 

For  evil  or  for  good." 

Then  the  bonnie  May  she  rode  her  way 

Along  the  sea-wave  green. 
And  away  and  away  on  her  palfrey  gray, 

Like  the  ocean's  comely  queen. 

But  it  grieveth  my  heart  to  tell  to  you. 
What  I  never  have  told  before. 


The  Good  Man  of  Alloa  39 

Of  that  man  so  righteous  and  so  good, 
So  long  as  he  was  poor; 

But,  whenever  he  got  more  store  of  gold 

Then  ever  his  wits  could  tell, 
He  never  would  give  a  mite  for  good. 

Neither  for  heaven  nor  hell. 

But  he  brooded  o'er  that  mighty  store 

With  sordid  heart  of  sin, 
And  the  houseless  wight,  or  the  poor  by  night, 

His  gate  wan  never  within. 

And  the  last  accounts  I  had  of  him 

Are  very  strange  to  tell,  — 
He  was  seen  with  the  May  and  the  palfrey 
gray 

Riding  fiercely  out  through  hell. 

And  aye  she  cried:  "Hurrah,  hurrah! 

Make  room  for  me  and  mine! 
I  bring  you  the  Man  of  Alloa 

To  his  punishment  condign! 

*'His  Maker  tried  him  in  the  fire, 

To  make  his  heart  contrite; 
But,  when  he  gat  his  heart's  desire, 

He  proved  a  hypocrite!" 

{^Condensed.)  James  Hogg. 


40         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

THE  ELM  AND  THE  VINE 

"Uphold  my  feeble  branches 
By  thy  strong  arms,  I  pray." 
Thus  to  the  Elm  her  neighbor 
The  Vine  was  heard  to  say. 

"Else,  lying  low  and  helpless, 
A  wretched  lot  is  mine. 
Crawled  o'er  by  every  reptile. 
And  browsed  by  hungry  kine." 

The  Elm  was  moved  to  pity. 
Then  spoke  the  generous  tree: 
**My  hapless  friend,  come  hither, 
And  find  support  in  me." 

The  kindly  Elm,  receiving 
The  grateful  Vine's  embrace, 

Became,  with  that  adornment. 
The  garden's  pride  and  grace; 

Became  the  chosen  covert 
In  which  the  wild  birds  sing; 

Became  the  love  of  shepherds. 
And  glory  of  the  spring. 

(Condensed.)  From  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas. 
Translated  by  William  Cullen  Bryant. 


The  Gourd  and  the  Palm  41 

THE  GOURD  AND  THE  PALM 

{A  Persian  Fable) 

"How   old   art   thou?"   said   the   garrulous 

gourd, 
As  o'er  the  palm-tree's  crest  it  poured 
Its  spreading  leaves  and  tendrils  fine, 
And  hung  a  bloom  in  the  morning  shine. 
"A  hundred  years!"  the  palm-tree  sighed; 
"And  /,"  the  saucy  gourd  replied, 
"Am  at  the  most  a  hundred  hours, 
And  overtop  thee  in  the  bowers!" 

Through  all  the  palm-tree's  leaves  there  went 
A  tremor  as  of  self-content. 
"I  live  my  life,"  it  whispering  said, 
"See  what  I  see,  and  count  the  dead; 
And  every  year,  of  all  I  've  known, 
A  gourd  above  my  head  has  grown, 
And  made  a  boast,  like  thine  to-day; 
Yet  here  /  stand  —  but  where  are  they  ?  " 

Jnonymous. 

THE  PLUCKY  PRINCE 

There  was  a  youthful  scion 
Of  a  race  of  tyrant  kings, 
Who  roused  his  father's  anger 
By  the  way  he  wasted  things. 


42         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Quoth  then  the  wrathful  monarch: 
"Quick  from  my  presence  flee! 
Yet  turn  your  heedless  ear 
To  this  my  stern  decree: 
No  fish  or  flesh  or  fowl 
Shall  your  hunger's  needs  supply. 
Nor  beast  nor  worm  contribute 
To  the  clothing  which  you  buy. 
When  comes  the  gloomy  night-time, 
No  oil  or  vapor  light, 
No  wax  or  tallow  candle, 
Shall  make  the  darkness  bright. 
Nor  grains  upon  the  hill-side, 
Nor  tuberous  roots  on  earth, 
Nor  fruitful  vines,  and  juicy, 
Contribute  to  your  mirth. 
Thou  prodigal!  Avaunt! 
Go,  starve  upon  the  plain! 
Thou  never,  nevermore, 
Shalt  waste  my  wealth  again.** 

His  son  this  law  of  exile 
Conned  over  at  his  ease: 

"He  has,"  he  said,  "left  to  me 
The  mighty  help  of  trees.^^ 
He  gayly  snapped  his  fingers, 
He  slammed  the  palace  door  — 

"Stern  monarch,  I  shall  flourish 
As  proudly  as  before!" 


The  Plucky  Prince  43 

A  house  he  quickly  builded: 
It  all  was  wondrous  fine; 
Of  English  oak  its  rafters, 
Its  floors  of  Norway  pine. 
On  pillars  of  palmetto 
The  cypress-shingled  roof, 
With  oaken  eaves  and  gargoyles, 
Against  the  storms  was  proof. 
There  curious  palm-mattings 
Spread  over  all  the  floors, 
Dyed  crimson  with  the  logwood 
From  warm  Caribbean  shores. 
Quaint  furniture  of  walnut 
And  perfumed  sandal-wood. 
With  highly  polished  rose-wood, 
Throughout  the  mansion  stood. 

*'Now,"  said  this  Prince  complaisant, 

*'A  ball  I  mean  to  give, 
I'll  show  the  King,  my  father, 
How  finely  I  can  live!" 

The  night  came  on  apace 
When  the  house  was  light  as  day, 
For  candle-nuts  in  sconces 
Shed  many  a  golden  ray. 
Magnolias  from  the  South  land, 
Pink  apple-blooms  from  Maine, 
All  vied  with  orange-flowers 
The  subtlest  sense  to  chain. 


44         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

The  noted  guests  assembled 
Found  waiting  for  them  all 
A  fairer  feast  than  ever 
Graced  kingly  banquet-hall. 
For  dishes,  carved  in  queer  ways 
That  haunt  the  Chinese  mind, 
Bore  nuts  and  fruits  from  every  land 
Familiar  to  mankind. 


Cassava  cakes  from  Java, 
The  solid  plantain's  meat, 
With  chocolate  were  proffered, 
And  maple-sugar  sweet. 
Fair  pomegranates  and  soursops, 
With  luscious  guava  jam, 
Stood  near  the  odious  durion 
From  islands  near  Siam. 
Bananas,  figs,  and  lemons, 
Dates,  cherries,  plums  and  pears, 
All  seemed  so  very  common 
One  passed  them  unawares. 

Amid  this  festive  splendor 
The  Prince  received  his  guest; 
In  robes  of  cocoa  woven 
He  was  superbly  drest. 
While  from  the  crown  of  laurels 
His  realm  placed  on  his  brow, 


The  Plucky  Prince  45 

Down  to  his  shoes  of  caoutchouc, 

He  looked  a  king,  I  trow. 
"Warm  welcomes  to  my  mansion!"  — 

'T  was  thus  he  met  the  King  — 
"See  what  a  man  you  made  me 

By  your  cold  banishing!" 

A  genial  smile  illumined 
The  monarch  and  his  train. 
*'0  Prince!  of  you  I'm  very  proud  — 
Come  to  my  arms  again!" 
So  spake  the  King,  embracing 
His  enterprising  son. 
And  then,  with  jokes  and  laughter 
The  banquet  was  begun. 
The  court  drank  so  much  cider 
They  complimentary  grew; 
While  the  King  declared  the  cashew 
Was  the  finest  wine  he  knew. 
To  this  the  Premier  added, 
He  hoped  the  Prince  would  grow 
Like  to  the  giant  banyan, 
And  live  long  here  below. 
Then  soon  the  party  ended. 
The  guests  all  said:  "Farewell," 
And  the  wonders  of  the  woodland 
They  hastened  home  to  tell. 

May  Bryant 


46         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

APPLE-SEED  JOHN 

Poor  Johnny  was  bended  well  nigh  double 
With  years  of  toil,  and  care,  and  trouble; 
But  his  large  old  heart  still  felt  the  need 
Of  doing  for  others  some  kindly  deed. 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  old  Johnny  said: 
"I  who  work  so  hard  for  daily  bread? 
It  takes  heaps  of  money  to  do  much  good; 
I  am  far  too  poor  to  do  as  I  would." 

The  old  man  sat  thinking  deeply  a  while, 
Then  over  his  features  gleamed  a  smile, 
And  he  clapped  his  hands  with  a  boyish  glee, 
And  said  to  himself:  "There's  a  way  for  me!" 

He  worked,  and  he  worked  with  might  and 

main. 
But  no  one  knew  the  plan  in  his  brain. 
He  took  ripe  apples  in  pay  for  chores, 
And  carefully  cut  from  them  all  the  cores. 

He  filled  a  bag  full,  then  wandered  away. 
And  no  man  saw  him  for  many  a  day. 
With  knapsack  over  his  shoulder  slung. 
He  marched  along,  and  whistled  or  sung. 

He  seemed  to  roam  with  no  object  in  view. 
Like  one  who  had  nothing  on  earth  to  do; 


Apple-Seed  John  47 

But,  journeying  thus  o'er  the  prairies  wide, 
He  paused  now  and  then,  and  his  bag  untied. 

With  pointed  cane  deep  holes  he  would  bore, 
And  in  every  hole  he  placed  a  core; 
Then  covered  them  well,  and  left  them  there 
In  keeping  of  sunshine,  rain,  and  air. 

Sometimes  for  days  he  waded  through  grass, 
And  saw  not  a  living  creature  pass. 
But  often,  when  sinking  to  sleep  in  the  dark. 
He  heard  the  owls  hoot  and  the  prairie-dogs 
bark. 

Sometimes  an  Indian  of  sturdy  limb 
Came  striding  along  and  walked  with  him; 
And  he  who  had  food  shared  with  the  other, 
As  if  he  had  met  a  hungry  brother. 

When  the  Indian  saw  how  the  bag  was  filled, 
And  looked  at  the  holes  that  the  white  man 

drilled, 
He  thought  to  himself  't  was  a  silly  plan 
To  be  planting  seed  for  some  future  man. 

Sometimes  a  log  cabin  came  in  view, 
Where  Johnny  was  sure  to  find  jobs  to  do. 
By  which  he  gained  stores  of  bread  and  meat, 
And  welcome  rest  for  his  weary  feet. 


48         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

He  had  full  many  a  story  to  tell, 
And  goodly  hymns  that  he  sung  right  well; 
He  tossed  up  the  babes,  and  joined  the  boys 
In  many  a  game  full  of  fun  and  noise. 

And  he  seemed  so  hearty,  In  work  or  play, 
Men,  women,  and  boys  all  urged  him  to  stay; 
But  he  always  said:  "I  have  something  to  do, 
And  I  must  go  on  to  carry  It  through." 

The  boys,  who  were  sure  to  follow  him  round, 
Soon  found  what  it  was  he  put  in  the  ground; 
And  so,  as  time  passed  and  he  traveled  on, 
Ev'ry  one  called  him  "Old  Apple-Seed  John." 

Whenever  he'd  used  the  whole  of  his  store. 
He  went  into  cities  and  worked  for  more; 
Then  he  marched  back  to  the  wilds  again, 
And  planted  seed  on  hill-side  and  plain. 

In  cities,  some  said  the  old  man  was  crazy; 
While  others  said  he  was  only  lazy; 
But  he  took  no  notice  of  gibes  and  jeers, 
He  knew  he  was  working  for  future  years. 

He  knew  that  trees  would  soon  abound 
Where  once  a  tree  could  not  have  been  found; 
That  a  flick'ring  play  of  light  and  shade 
Would  dance  and  glimmer  along  the  glade; 


Woodman  and  Sandal  Tree         49 

That  blossoming  sprays  would  form  fair  bowers. 
And  sprinkle  the  grass  with  rosy  showers; 
And  the  little  seeds  his  hands  had  spread, 
Would  become  ripe  apples  when  he  was  dead. 

So  he  kept  on  traveling  far  and  wide, 
Till  his  old  limbs  failed  him,  and  he  died. 
He  said  at  the  last:  "  'T  is  a  comfort  to  feel 
I've  done  good  in  the  world,  though  not  a 
great  deal." 

Weary  travelers,  journeying  west, 
In  the  shade  of  his  trees  find  pleasant  rest; 
And  they  often  start,  with  glad  surprise, 
At  the  rosy  fruit  that  round  them  lies. 

And  if  they  inquire  whence  came  such  trees. 

Where  not  a  bough  once  swayed  in  the  breeze. 

The  answer  still  comes,  as  they  travel  on: 

"These    trees  were    planted   by  Apple-Seed 

John." 

Lydia  Maria  Child. 

THE  WOODMAN  AND  THE 
SANDAL  TREE 

Beside  a  sandal  tree  a  woodman  stood 
And  swung  the  axe,  and  while  its  blows  were 
laid 
Upon  the  fragrant  trunk,  the  generous  wood 


50        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

With  its  own  sweet  perfumed  the  cruel  blade. 
Go,  then,  and  do  the  like.   A  soul  endued 

With  light  from  Heaven,  a  nature  pure  and 
great. 
Will  place  its  highest  bliss  in  doing  good, 
And  good  for  evil  give,  and  love  for  hate. 

From  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas. 

Translated  by  William  Cullen  Bryant, 

THE  BELL  OF  ATRI 

At  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town 

Of  ancient  Roman  date,  but  scant  renown, 

One  of  those  little  places  that  have  run 

Half  up  the  hill,  beneath  a  blazing  sun. 

And  then  sat  down  to  rest,  as  if  to  say, 

"I   climb    no    farther    upward,   come    what 

may,"—  ^ 
The  Re  Giovanni,  now  unknown  to  fame, 
Somany  monarchs  since  have  borne  the  name, 
Had  a  great  bell  hung  in  the  market-place. 
Beneath  a  roof,  projecting  some  small  space 
By  way  of  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 
Then  rode  he  through  the  streets  with  all  his 

train, 
And,  with  the  blast  of  trumpets  loud  and  long, 
Made  proclamation,  that  whenever  wrong 
Was  done  to  any  man,  he  should  but  ring 
The  great  bell  in  the  square,  and  he,  the  King, 


The  Bell  of  Atri  51 

Would  cause  the  Syndic  to  decide  thereon. 
Such  was  the  proclamation  of  King  John. 

How  swift  the  happy  days  in  Atri  sped, 
What  wrongs  were  righted,  need  not  here  be 

said. 
Suffice  It  that,  as  all  things  must  decay, 
The  hempen  rope  at  length  was  worn  away, 
Unravelled  at  the  end,  and,  strand  by  strand. 
Loosened  and  wasted  in  the  ringer's  hand, 
Till  one,  who  noted  this  in  passing  by. 
Mended  the  rope  with  braids  of  briony. 
So  that  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Hung  like  a  votive  garland  at  a  shrine. 

By  chance  it  happened  that  in  Atri  dwelt 
A  knight,  with  spur  on  heel  and  sword  in  belt, 
Who  loved  to  hunt  the  wild-boar  in  the  woods, 
Who   loved   his   falcons   with   their   crimson 

hoods, 
Who  loved  his  hounds  and  horses,  and  all 

sports 
And  prodigalities  of  camps  and  courts;  — 
Loved,  or  had  loved  them;  for  at  last,  grown 

old. 
His  only  passion  was  the  love  of  gold. 

He  sold  his  horses,  sold  his  hawks  and  hounds, 
Rented  his  vineyards  and  his  garden-grounds, 


52         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Kept  but  one  steed,  his  favorite  steed  of  all, 
To  starve  and  shiver  in  a  naked  stall, 
And  day  by  day  sat  brooding  in  his  chair, 
Devising  plans  how  best  to  hoard  and  spare;. 

At  length  he  said:  "What  is  the  use  or  need 
To  keep  at  my  own  cost  this  lazy  steed, 
Eating  his  head  off  in  my  stables  here, 
When  rents  are  low  and  provender  is  dear? 
Let  him  go  feed  upon  the  public  ways; 
I  want  him  only  for  the  holidays." 
So  the  old  steed  was  turned  into  the  heat 
Of  the  long,  lonely,  silent,  shadeless  street; 
And  wandered  in  suburban  lanes  forlorn. 
Barked   at  by  dogs,  and  torn  by  brier  and 
thorn. 

One  afternoon,  as  In  that  sultry  clime 

It  is  the  custom  in  the  summer  time, 

With    bolted    doors     and    window-shutters 

closed, 
The  inhabitants  of  Atri  slept  or  dozed; 
When  suddenly  upon  their  senses  fell 
The  loud  alarm  of  the  accusing  bell! 
The  Syndic  started  from  his  deep  repose, 
Turned  on  his  couch,  and  listened,  and  then 

rose 
And  donned  his  robes,  and  with  reluctant  pace 
Went  panting  forth  into  the  market-place. 


The  Bell  of  Atri  53 

Where  the  great  bell  upon  its  cross-beams 

swung, 
Reiterating  with  persistent  tongue, 
In  half-articulate  jargon,  the  old  song: 
"Some  one  hath  done  a  wrong,  hath  done  a 

wrong ! " 

But  ere  he  reached  the  belfry's  light  arcade  ''' 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  beneath  its  shade, 
No  shape  of  human  form  of  woman  born, 
But  a  poor  steed  dejected  and  forlorn, 
Who  with  uplifted  head  and  eager  eye 
Was  tugging  at  the  vines  of  briony. 
"Domeneddio!"  cried  the  Syndic  straight, 
"This  is  the  Knight  of  Atri's  steed  of  state! 
He  calls  for  justice,  being  sore  distressed, 
And  pleads  his  cause  as  loudly  as  the  best." 

Meanwhile  from  street  and  lane  a  noisy  crowd 
Had  rolled  together  like  a  summer  cloud. 
And  told  the  story  of  the  wretched  beast 
In  five-and-twenty  different  ways  at  least, 
With  much  gesticulation  and  appeal 
To  heathen  gods,  in  their  excessive  zeal. 
The  Knight  was  called  and  questioned;  in 

reply 
Did  not  confess  the  fact,  did  not  deny; ' 
Treated  the  matter  as  a  pleasant  jest, 
And  set  at  naught  the  Syndic  and  the  rest, 


54        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Maintaining,  in  an  angry  undertone, 
That  he  should  do  what  pleased  him  with  his 
own. 

And  thereupon  the  Syndic  gravely  read 
The  proclamation  of  the  King;  then  said: 
"Pride  goeth  forth  on  horseback  grand  and 

gay, 

But  cometh  back  on  foot,  and  begs  its  way; 
Fame  is  the  fragrance  of  heroic  deeds, 
Of  flowers  of  chivalry  and  not  of  weeds! 
These  are  familiar  proverbs;  but  I  fear 
They  never  yet  have  reached  your  knightly 

ear. 
What  fair  renown,  what  honor,  what  repute 
Can  come  to  you  from  starving  this  poor 

brute.^ 
He  who  serves  well  and  speaks  not,  merits 

more 
Than  they  who  clamor  loudest  at  the  door. 
Therefore  the  law  decrees  that  as  this  steed 
Served  you  in  youth,  henceforth  you  shall 

take  heed 
To  comfort  his  old  age,  and  to  provide 
Shelter  in  stall,  and  food  and  field  beside." 
The  Knight  withdrew  abashed;  the  people  all 
Led  home  the  steed  In  triumph  to  his  stall. 
The  King  heard  and  approved,  and  laughed 

in  glee, 


Tubal  Cain  55 

And  cried  aloud:  "Right  well  it  pleaseth  me! 
Church-bells  at  best  but  ring  us  to  the  doors; 
But  go  not  into  mass;  my  bell  doth  more: 
It  Cometh  into  court  and  pleads  the  cause 
Of  creatures  dumb  and  unknown  to  the  laws; 
And  this  shall  make,  in  every  Christian  clime, 
The  Bell  of  Atri  famous  for  all  time." 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

TUBAL  CAIN 


Old  Tubal  Cain  was  a  man  of  might 

In  the  days  when  the  earth  was  young; 
By  the  fierce  red  light  of  his  furnace  bright, 

The  strokes  of  his  hammer  rung; 
And  he  lifted  high  his  brawny  hand 

On  the  iron  glowing  clear, 
Till  the  sparks  rushed  out  in  scarlet  showers. 

As  he  fashioned  the  sword  and  the  spear. 
And  he  sang:  "Hurrah  for  my  handiwork! 

Hurrah  for  the  Spear  and  Sword! 
Hurrah  for  the  hand  that  shall  wield  them 
well, 

For  he  shall  be  king  and  lord!" 

II 

To  Tubal  Cain  came  many  a  one, 
As  he  wrought  by  his  roaring  fire. 


56        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

And  each  one  prayed  for  a  strong  steel  blade 

As  the  crown  of  his  desire; 
And  he  made  them  weapons  sharp  and  strong, 

Till  they  shouted  loud  for  glee, 
And  gave  him  gifts  of  pearl  and  gold, 

And  spoils  of  the  forest  free. 
And  they  sang:  "Hurrah  for  Tubal  Cain, 

Who  hath  given  us  strength  anew! 
Hurrah  for  the  smith,  hurrah  for  the  fire, 

And  hurrah  for  the  metal  true!" 

Ill 

But  a  sudden  change  came  o'er  his  heart. 

Ere  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
And  Tubal  Cain  was  filled  with  pain 

For  the  evil  he  had  done; 
He  saw  that  men,  with  rage  and  hate, 

Made  war  upon  their  kind; 
That  the  land  was  red  with  the  blood  they 
shed 

In  their  lust  for  carnage  blind. 
And  he  said:  "Alas!  that  ever  I  made, 

Or  that  skill  of  mine  should  plan, 
The  spear  and  the  sword  for  men  whose  joy 

Is  to  slay  their  fellow-man!" 

IV 

And  for  many  a  day  old  Tubal  Cain 
Sat  brooding  o'er  his  woe; 


Tubal  Cain  57 

And  his  hand  forbore  to  smite  the  ore, 

And  his  furnace  smouldered  low. 
But  he  rose  at  last  with  a  cheerful  face, 

And  a  bright  courageous  eye, 
And  bared  his  strong  right  arm  for  work. 

While  the  quick  flames  mounted  high. 
And  he  sang:  "Hurrah  for  my  handiwork!" 

And  the  red  sparks  lit  the  air; 
"Not  alone  for  the  blade  was  the  bright  steel 
made;"  — 

As  he  fashioned  the  First  Ploughshare! 


And  men,  taught  wisdom  from  the  Past, 

In  friendship  joined  their  hands, 
Hung  the  sword  in  the  hall,  the  spear  on  the 
wall. 

And  ploughed  the  willing  lands, 
And  sang:  "Hurrah  for  Tubal  Cain! 

Our  staunch  good  friend  is  he; 
And  for  the  ploughshare  and  the  plough 

To  him  our  praise  shall  be. 
But  while  Oppression  lifts  its  head, 

Or  a  tyrant  would  be  lord, 
Though  we  may  thank  him  for  the  Plough, 

We'll  not  forget  the  Sword!" 

Charles  Mackay. 


58        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 
BRIER-ROSE 

Parti 

Said  Brier-Rose's   mother  to  the   naughty 

Brier-Rose: 
**  What  will  become  of  you,  my  child,  the  Lord 

Almighty  knows. 
You  will  not  scrub  the  kettles,  and  you  will 

not  touch  the  broom; 
You  never  sit  a  minute  still  at  spinning-wheel 

or  loom." 

Thus  grumbled  in  the  morning,  and  grumbled 

late  at  eve, 
The  good-wife  as  she  bustled  with  pot  and 

tray  and  sieve; 
But  Brier-Rose,  she  laughed  and  she  cocked 

her  dainty  head: 
"Why,    I   shall   marry,   Mother   dear,"   full 

merrily  she  said. 

**You  marry,  saucy  Brier-Rose!  The  man,  ne 

is  not  found 
To  marry  such  a  worthless  wench,  these  seven 

leagues  around." 
But  Brier-Rose,  she  laughed  and  she  trilled  a 

merry  lay: 
"Perhaps  he'll  come,  my  Mother  dear,  from 

eight  leagues  away." 


Brier- Rose  59 

Up  stole  the  girl  on  tiptoe,  so  that  none  her 

step  could  hear, 
And  laughing  pressed  an  airy  kiss  behind  tjie 

good-wife's  ear. 
And    she,    as    e'er    relenting,    sighed:    "Oh, 

Heaven  only  knows 
Whatever  will  become  of  you,  my  naughty 

Brier-Rose!" 

The  sun  was  high  and  summer  sounds  were 

teeming  in  the  air; 
The  clank  of  scythes,  the  cricket's  whir,  and 

swelling  wood-notes  rare, 
From   field   and   copse   and    meadow;    and 

through  the  open  door 
Sweet,  fragrant  whiffs  of  new-mown  hay  the 

idle  breezes  bore. 

And  out  she  skipped  the  meadows  o'er  and 
gazed  into  the  sky; 

Her  heart  o'er  brimmed  with  gladness,  she 
scarce  herself  knew  why, 

And  to  a  merry  tune  she  hummed:  "Oh, 
Heaven  only  knows 

Whatever  will  become  of  the  naughty  Brier- 
Rose!" 

Whene'er  a  thrifty  matron  this  idle  maid 
espied,  , 


6o        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

She  shook  her  head  in  warning,  and  scarce  her 
wrath  could  hide; 

For  girls  were  made  for  housewives,  for  spin- 
ning-wheel and  loom, 

And  not  to  drink  the  sunshine  and  wild- 
flower's  sweet  perfume. 

And  oft  the  maidens  cried,  when  the  Brier- 
Rose  went  by; 

"You  cannot  knit  a  stocking,  and  you  cannot 
make  a  pie." 

But  Brier-Rose,  as  was  her  wont,  she  cocked 
her  curly  head: 

"But  I  can  sing  a  pretty  song,"  full  merrily 
she  said. 

And  oft  the  young  lads  shouted,  when  they 

saw  the  maid  at  play: 
"Ho,  good-for-nothing  Brier-Rose,  how  do 

you  do  to-day?" 
Then  she  shook  her  tiny  fist;  to  her  cheeks 

the  color  flew: 
"However  much  you  coax  me,  I  '11  never  dance 

with  you ! " 

Part  II 

Thus  flew  the  years  light-winged  over  Brier- 
Rose's  head. 

Till  she  was  twenty  summers  old,  and  yet 
remained  unwed. 


Brier-Rose  6l 

And  all  the  parish  wondered:  "The  Lord 
Almighty  knows 

Whatever  will  become  of  that  naughty  Brier- 
Rose!" 

And  while  they  wondered  came  the  Spring 

a-dancing  o'er  the  hills; 
Her  breath  was  warmer  than  of  yore,  and  all 

the  mountain  rills, 
With  their  tinkling  and  their  rippling  and 

their  rushing,  filled  the  air, 
And  the  misty  sounds  of  water  forth-welling 

everywhere. 

And  In  the  valley's  depth,  like  a  lusty  beast 
of  prey. 

The  river  leaped  and  roared  aloud  and  tossed 
its  mane  of  spray; 

Then  hushed  again  its  voice  to  a  softly  plash- 
ing croon. 

As  dark  it  rolled  beneath  the  sun  and  white 
beneath  the  moon. 

It  was  a  merry  sight  to  see  the  lumber  as  it 

whirled 
Adown   the  tawny   eddies   that   hissed   and 

seethed  and  swirled. 
Now  shooting  through  the  rapids  and,  with  a 

reeling  swing. 
Into  the  foam-crests  diving  like  an  animated 

thing.^ 


62        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

But  in  the  narrows  of  the  rocks,  where  o'er  a 

steep  incline 
The  waters  plunged,  and  wreathed  in  foam 

the  dark  boughs  of  the  pine, 
The  lads  kept  watch  with  shout  and  song,  and 

sent  each  straggling  beam 
A-spinning  down   the  rapids,   lest  it  should 

lock  the  stream. 


Part  III 

And  yet  —  methinks  I  hear  it  now,  —  wild 

voices  in  the  night, 
A  rush  of  feet,  a  dog's  harsh  bark,  a  torch's 

flaring  light, 
And  wandering  gusts  of  dampness,  and  'round 

us  far  and  nigh, 
A  throbbing  boom  of  water  like  a  pulse-beat 

in  the  sky. 

The  dawn  just  pierced  the  pallid  east  with 

spears  of  gold  and  red, 
As  we,  with  boat-hooks  in  our  hands,  toward 

the  narrows  sped. 
And  terror  smote  us;  for  we  heard  the  mighty 

tree-tops  sway, 
And   thunder,    as   of   chariots,    and   hissing 

showers  of  spray. 


Brier-Rose  63 

"Now,  lads,"  the  sheriff  shouted,  "you  are 

strong,  like  Norway's  rock: 
A  hundred  crowns  I  give  to  him  who  breaks 

the  lumber-lock! 
For  if  another  hour  go  by,  the  angry  waters' 

spoil 
Our  homes  will  be,  and  fields,  and  our  weary 

years  of  toil!" 

We  looked  each  at  the  other;  each  hoped  his 

neighbor  would 
Brave  death  and   danger  for  his   home,   as 

valiant  Norsemen  should. 
But  at  our  feet  the  brawling  tide  expanded 

like  a  lake. 
And  whirling  beams  came  shooting  on,  and 

made  the  firm  rock  quake. 

**Two   hundred   crowns,"    the   sheriff   cried, 

and  breathless  stood  the  crowd. 
"Two  hundred  crowns,  my  bonny  lads!"  in 

anxious  tones  and  loud. 
But  not  a  man  came  forward,  and  no  one 

spoke  or  stirred. 
And  nothing  save  the  thunder  of  the  cataract 

was  heard. 

But  as  with  trembling  hands,  and  with  faint- 
ing hearts  we  stood, 


64        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

We  spied  a  little  curly  head  emerging  from 

the  wood. 
We  heard  a  little  snatch  of  a  merry  little 

song, 
And  saw  the  dainty  Brier-Rose  come  dancing 

through  the  throng. 

An  angry  murmur  rose  from  the  people  round 
about: 

"Fling  her  into  the  river,''  we  heard  the 
matrons  shout, 

"Chase  her  away,  the  silly  thing;  for  God 
Himself  scarce  knows 

Why  ever  He  created  that  worthless  Brier- 
Rose!" 

Sweet  Brier-Rose,   she  heard  their  cries;  a 

little  pensive  smile 
Across  her  fair  face  flitted  that  might  a  stone 

beguile; 
And  then  she  gave  her  pretty  head  a  roguish 

little  cock: 
"Hand  me  a  boat-hook,  lads,"  she  said,  "I 

think  I'll  break  the  lock." 

Derisive  shouts  of  laughter  broke  from  throats 

of  young  and  old : 
"Ho!     good-for-nothing     Brier-Rose,     your 

tongue  was  ever  bold." 


Brier-Rose  65 

And,  mockingly,  a  boat-hook  into  her  hands 

was  flung. 
When,  lo!  into  the  river's  midst  with  daring 
leaps  she  sprung! 

We  saw  her  dimly  through  a  mist  of  dense 
and  blinding  spray; 

From  beam  to  beam  she  skipped,  like  a  water- 
sprite  at  play. 

And  now  and  then  faint  gleams  we  caught  of 
color  through  the  mist; 

A  crimson  waist,  a  golden  head,  a  little  dainty 
wrist. 

In  terror  pressed  the  people  to  the  margin 

of  the  hill, 
A  hundred  breaths  were  bated,  a  hundred 

hearts  stood  still. 
For,  hark!  from  out  the  rapids  came  a  strange 

and  creaking  sound. 
And  then  a  crash  of  thunder  which  shook  the 

very  ground. 

The  waters  hurled  the  lumber  mass  down  o'er 

the  rocky  steep. 
We  heard  a  muffled  rumbling  and  a  rolling 

in  the  deep; 
We  saw  a  tiny  form  which  the  torrent  swiftly 

bore 
And  flung  into  the  wild  abyss,  where  it  was 

seen  no  more. 


66        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

Ahj  little  naughty  Brier-Rose,  thou  couldst 

nor  weave  nor  spin; 
Yet  thou  couldst  do  a  nobler  deed  than  all 

thy  mocking  kin; 
For  thou  hadst  courage  e'en  to  die,  and  by 

thy  death  to  save 
A  thousand  farms  and  lives  from  the  fury  of 

the  wave. 

(Condensed.)    Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen. 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TOAST 

The  feast  is  o'er!   Now  brimming  wine 
In  lordly  cup  is  seen  to  shine 

Before  each  eager  guest; 
And  silence  fills  the  crowded  hall, 
As  deep  as  when  the  herald's  call 

Thrills  in  the  loyal  breast. 

Then  up  arose  the  noble  host, 

And  smiling  cried:  "A  toast!  a  toast! 

To  all  our  ladies  fair! 
Here,  before  all,  I  pledge  the  name 
Of  Staunton's  proud  and  beauteous  dame, 

The  lady  Gundamere!" 

Then  to  his  feet  each  gallant  sprung. 
And  joyous  was  the  shout  that  rung, 
As  Stanley  gave  the  word; 


The  Knight's  Toast  67 

And  every  cup  was  raised  on  high, 
Nor  ceased  the  loud  and  gladsome  cry, 
Till  Stanley's  voice  was  heard. 

"Enough,  enough,"  he  smiling  said. 
And  lowly  bent  his  haughty  head, 

"That  all  may  have  their  due, 
Now  each  in  turn  must  play  his  part, 
And  pledge  the  lady  of  his  heart, 

Like  gallant  knight  and  true!" 

Then  one  by  one  each  guest  sprung  up, 
And  drained  in  turn  the  brimming  cup, 

And  named  the  loved  one's  name; 
And  each,  as  hand  on  high  he  raised. 
His  lady's  grace  or  beauty  praised, 

Her  constancy  and  fame. 

'T  is  now  St.  Leon's  turn  to  rise; 

On  him  are  fixed  those  countless  eyes;  — 

A  gallant  knight  is  he; 
Envied  by  some,  admired  by  all. 
Far-famed  in  lady's  bower  and  hall,  — 

The  flower  of  chivalry. 

St.  Leon  raised  his  kindling  eye. 
And  lifts  the  sparkling  cup  on  high; 
"I  drink  to  one,"  he  said, 


68         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

"Whose  image  never  may  depart, 
Deep  graven  on  this  grateful  heart, 
Till  memory  be  dead. 

"To  one  whose  love  for  me  shall  last 
When  lighter  passions  long  have  passed, 

So  holy  't  is  and  true; 
To  one  whose  love  hath  longer  dwelt, 
More  deeply  fixed,  more  keenly  felt, 
Than  any  pledged  by  you!^\ 

Each  guest  upstarted  at  the  word, 
And  laid  a  hand  upon  his  sword, 

With  fury-flashing  eye; 
And  Stanley  said:  "We  crave  the  name, 
Proud  knight,  of  this  most  peerless  dame. 

Whose  love  you  count  so  high." 

St.  Leon  paused,  as  if  he  would 

Not  breathe  her  name  in  careless  mood, 

Thus,  lightly,  to  another; 
Then  bent  his  noble  head,  as  though 
To  give  that  word  the  reverence  due, 

And  gently  said:  ''My  Mother!'' 

Attributed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


The  Glove  and  the  Lions  69 


THE  GLOVE  AND  THE  LIONS 

King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  loved  a 

royal  sport, 
And  one  day  as  his  lions  fought,  sat  looking  on 

the  court; 
The  nobles  filled  the  benches,  and  the  ladies 

in  their  pride. 
And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de  Lorge, 

with  one  for  whom  he  sighed : 
And  truly  't  was  a  gallant  thing  to  see  that 

crowning  show. 
Valor  and  love,  and  a  king  above,  and  the 

royal  beasts  below. 

Ramp'd  and  roar'd  the  lions,  with  horrid 
laughing  jaws; 

They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like  beams, 
a  wind  went  with  their  paws; 

With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar  they 
rolled  on  one  another, 

Till  all  the  pit  with  sand  and  mane  was  in  a 
thunderous  smother; 

The  bloody  foam  above  the  bars  came  whisk- 
ing through  the  air; 

Said  Francis  then:  "Faith,  gentlemen,  we're 
better  here  than  there." 


70         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

De    Lorge's    love    o'erheard    the    King,  —  a 

beauteous  lively  dame 
With  smiling  lips  and  sharp  bright  eyes,  which 

always  seem'd  the  same: 
She  thought,  "The  Count,  my  lover,  is  brave 

as  brave  can  be; 
He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things  to  show 

his  love  of  me; 
King,  ladies,  lovers,  all  look  on ;  the  occasion  is 

divine; 
I'll  drop  my  glove,  to  prove  his  love;  great 

glory  will  be  mine." 

She  dropp'd  her  glove,  to  prove  his  love,  then 

look'd  at  him  and  smiled; 
He  bowed,  and  in  a  moment  leapt  among  the 

lions  wild: 
The  leap  was  quick,  return  was  quick,  he  has 

regain'd  his  place. 
Then  threw  the  glove,  but  not  with  love,  right 

in  the  lady's  face. 
"Well  done!"  cried  Francis,  "rightly  done!" 

and  he  rose  from  where  he  sat: 
"No  love,"  quoth  he,  "but  vanity,  sets  love 

a  task  like  that." 

Leigh  Hunt. 


Opportunity  71 


OPPORTUNITY 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream:  — 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  the  plain; 
And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 
A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked  upon  swords  and  shields.  A  prince's 

banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed 

hy  foes. 
A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge, 
And  thought :  "Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel — 
That  blue  blade  that  the  King's  son  bears,  — 

but  this 
Blunt  thing — !"  he  snapt  and  flung  it  from 

his  hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 
Then  came  the  King's  son,  wounded,  sore 

bestead. 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand. 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle- 
shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down. 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


72         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 


YUSSOUF 

A  STRANGER  came  one  night  to  Yussouf  s  tent, 
Saying:  "Behold  one  outcast  and  in  dread, 
Against  whose  life  the  bow  of  power  is  bent, 
Who  flies,  and  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head; 
I  come  to  thee  for  shelter  and  for  food, 
To  Yussouf,  called  through  all  our  tribes 
'The  Good.'" 

"This  tent  is  mine,"  said  Yussouf,  "but  no 

more 
Than  it  is  God's;  come  in,  and  be  at  peace; 
Freely  shalt  thou  partake  of  all  my  store 
As  I  of  His  who  buildeth  over  these 
Our  tents  His  glorious  roof  of  night  and  day, 
And  at  whose  door  none  ever  yet  heard  Nay." 

So  Yussouf  entertained  his  guest  that  night. 
And,  waking  him  ere  day,  said:  "Here  is  gold; 
My  swiftest  horse  is  saddled  for  thy  flight; 
Depart  before  the  prying  day  grow  bold." 
As  one  lamp  lights  another,  nor  grows  less, 
So  nobleness  enkindleth  nobleness. 

That  inward  light  the  stranger's  face  made 

grand. 
Which  shines  from  all  self-conquest;  kneeling 

low, 


Jaffar  73 

He  bowed  his  forehead  upon  Yussouf's  hand, 
Sobbing:  "O  Sheik,  I  cannot  leave  thee  so; 
I  will  repay  thee;  all  this  thou  hast  done 
Unto  that  Ibrahim  who  slew  thy  son!" 

"Take  thrice  the  gold,"  said  Yussouf,  "for 

with  thee 
Into  the  desert,  never  to  return, 
My  one  black  thought  shall  ride  away  from 

me; 
First-born,   for  whom  by  day  and  night   I 

yearn, 
Balanced  and  just  are  all  of  God's  decrees; 
Thou   art  avenged,   my  first-born,   sleep   in 


peace!" 


James  Russell  Lowell. 


JAFFAR 

Jaffar,  the  Barmecide,  the  good  Vizier, 
The  poor  man's  hope,  the  friend  without  a 

peer. 
Jaffar  was  dead,  slain  by  a  doom  unjust; 
And  guilty  Haroun,  sullen  with  mistrust 
Of  what  the  good,  and  e'en  the  bad  might  say, 
Ordain'd  that  no  man  living  from  that  day 
Should  dare  to  speak  his  name  on  pain  of 

death. 
All  Araby  and  Persia  held  their  breath. 


74         Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

All  but  the  brave  Mondeer.  —  He,  proud  to 

show 
How  far  for  love  a  grateful  soul  could  go, 
And  facing  death  for  very  scorn  and  grief, 
(For  his  great  heart  wanted  a  great  relief,) 
Stood  forth  in  Bagdad,  daily,  in  the  square 
Where  once  had  stood  a  happy  house;  and 

there 
Harangued  the  tremblers  at  the  scimitar 
On  all  they  owed  to  the  divine  Jaffar. 
"Bring  me  this  man,"  the  Caliph  cried.  The 

man 
Was  brought,  was  gazed  upon.    The  mutes 

began 
To  bind  his  arms.    "Welcome,  brave  cords,'* 

cried  he; 
"From  bonds  far  worse  Jaffar  deliver'd  me; 
From  wants,  from  shames,  from  loveless  house- 
hold fears; 
Made  a   man's   eyes   friends  with   delicious 

tears; 
Restor'd  me,  loved  me,  put  me  on  a  par 
With  his  great  self.   How  can  I  pay  Jaffar.^"' 
Haroun,  who  felt  that  on  a  soul  like  this 
The  mightiest  vengeance  could  but  fall  amiss, 
Now  deigned  to  smile,  as  one  great  lord  of 

fate 
Might  smile  upon  another  half  as  great. 
He  said:  "Let  worth  grow  frenzied  if  it  will; 


Harmosan  75 

The  Caliph's  judgment  shall  be  master  still. 

Go;  and  since  gifts  thus  move  thee,  take  this 
gem,  ^ 

The  richest  in  the  Tartar's  diadem, 

And  hold  the  giver  as  thou  deemest  fit." 

"Gifts!"  cried  the  friend.  He  took;  and  hold- 
ing it 

High  towards  the  heavens,  as  though  to  meet 
his  star 

Exclaimed,  "This,  too,  I  owe  to  thee,  JafFar!" 

Leigh  Hunt. 


HARMOSAN 

Now  the  third  and  fatal  conflict  for  the  Per- 
sian throne  was  done. 

And  the  Moslem's  fiery  valor  had  the  crown- 
ing victory  won. 

Harmosan,  the  last  and  boldest  the  invader  to 

defy, 
Captive,  overborne  by  numbers,  they  were 

bringing  forth  to  die. 

Then  exclaimed  that  noble  captive:  "Lo,  I 

perish  in  my  thirst! 
Give  me  but  one  drink  of  water,  and  let  then 

arrive  the  worst!" 


yS        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

In  his  hand  he  took  the  goblet;  but  a  while 

the  draught  forbore, 
Seeming  doubtfully  the  purpose  of  the  foemen 

to  explore. 

Well  might  then  have  paused  the  bravest  — 

for  around  him  angry  foes 
With  a  hedge   of   naked  weapons  did   that 

lonely  man  enclose. 

"But  what  fear'st  thou?"  cried  the  Caliph, 
"is  it,  friend,  a  secret  blow.^ 

Fear  it  not !  our  gallant  Moslem  no  such  treach- 
erous dealing  know. 

"Thou  may'st  quench  thy  thirst  securely,  for 
thou  shalt  not  die  before 

Thou  hast  drunk  that  cup  of  water;  this  re- 
prieve is  thine  —  no  more!" 

Quick  the  Satrap  dashed  the  goblet  down  to 

earth  with  ready  hand, 
And  the  liquid  sank  forever,  lost  amid  the 

burning  sand. 

"Thou  hast  said  that  mine  my  life  is,  till  the 

water  of  that  cup 
I  have  drained:  then  bid  thy  servants  that 

spilt  water  gather  up!" 


The  Two  Church-Builders         77 

For  a  moment  stood  the  Caliph  as  by  doubt- 
ful passions  stirred  — 

Then  exclaimed:  "Forever  sacred  must  re- 
main a  monarch's  word! 

*' Bring  another  cup  and  straightway  to  the 

noble  Persian  give; 
Drink,  I  said  before,  and  perish  —  now  I  bid 

thee,  drink  and  live!" 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


THE  TWO  CHURCH-BUILDERS 

A  FAMOUS  King  would  build  a  church, 

A  temple  vast  and  grand; 
And,  that  the  praise  might  be  his  own, 

He  gave  a  strict  command 
That  none  should  add  the  smallest  gift 

To  aid  the  work  he  planned. 

And  when  the  mighty  dome  was  done, 

Within  the  noble  frame, 
Upon  a  tablet  broad  and  fair. 

In  letters  all  aflame 
With  burnished  gold,  the  peopk^  read 

The  royal  builder's  name. 

Now,  when  the  King,  elate  with  pride. 
That  night  had  sought  his  bed. 


78        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

He  dreamed  he  saw  an  Angel  come 

(A  halo  round  his  head,) 
Erase  the  royal  name,  and  write 

Another  in  its  stead. 

What  could  it  mean?    Three  times  that 
night 

That  wondrous  vision  came; 
Three  times  he  saw  that  Angel  hand 

Erase  the  royal  name, 
And  write  a  woman's  in  its  stead, 

In  letters  all  aflame. 

Whose  could  it  be.''  He  gave  command 

To  all  about  his  throne, 
To  seek  the  owner  of  the  name 

That  on  the  tablet  shone; 
And  so  it  was  the  courtiers  found 

A  widow  poor  and  lone. 

The  King,  enraged  at  what  he  heard, 
Cried:  "Bring  the  culprit  here!" 

And  to  the  woman,  trembling  sore, 
He  said:  '"T  is  very  clear 

That  you  have  broken  my  command; 
Now  let  the  truth  appear!" 

**Your  majesty,"  the  widow  said: 
"I  can't  deny  the  truth; 


Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper        79 

I  love  the  Lord,  —  my  Lord  and  yours,  — 

And  so,  in  simple  sooth, 
I  broke  your  majesty's  command 

(I  crave  your  royal  ruth). 

*'And  since  I  had  no  money,  sire, 

Why,  I  could  only  pray 
That  God  would  bless  your  majesty; 

And  when  along  the  way 
The  horses  drew  the  stones,  I  gave 

To  one  a  wisp  of  hay." 

"Ah!  now  I  see,"  the  King  exclaimed, 
"Self-glory  was  my  aim; 
The  woman  gave  for  love  of  God, 

And  not  for  worldly  fame! 
'T  is  my  command  the  tablet  bear 
The  pious  widow's  name." 

John  G.  Saxe, 

SIR  LAUNFAL  AND  THE   LEPER 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  dark- 
some gate. 
He  was  'ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the 
same. 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he 
sate; 
And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came; 


8o        Deeds  of  Right  and  Wrong 

The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 
The  flesh  'neath  his  armor  'gan  shrink  and 
crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall; 
For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature. 
And   seemed  the  one  blot  on   the   summer 

morn,  — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust: 
"Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust. 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door; 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold: 
He  gives  only  the  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty; 
But  he  who  gives  but  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms. 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in   darkness 

before." 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


FAIRIES,    MAGIC,   AND    MYSTERY 


THE  DORCHESTER  GIANT 

There  was  a  Giant  in  time  of  old, 

A  mighty  one  was  he; 

He  had  a  wife,  but  she  was  a  scold, 

So  he  kept  her  shut  in  his  mammoth  fold; 

And  he  had  children  three. 

It  happened  to  be  an  election  day, 
And  the  giants  were  choosing  a  king; 
The  people  were  not  democrats  then, 
They  did  not  talk  of  the  rights  of  men. 
And  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

Then  the  Giant  took  his  children  three. 

And  fastened  them  in  the  pen; 

The  children  roared;  quoth  the  Giant:  "Be 

still!" 
And  Dorchester  Heights  and  Milton  Hill 
Rolled  back  the  sound  again. 

Then  he  brought  them  a  pudding  stuffed  with 

plums, 
As  big  as  the  State-House  dome; 
Quoth  he:  "There's  something  for  you  to  eat; 
So  stop  your  mouths  with  your  'lection  treat, 
And  wait  till  your  dad  comes  home." 


84        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

So  the  Giant  pulled  him  a  chestnut  stout. 
And  whittled  the  boughs  away; 
The  boys  and  their  mother  set  up  a  shout; 
Said  he,  "You're  in,  and  you  can't  get  out, 
Bellow  as  loud  as  you  may." 

Off  he  went,  and  he  growled  a  tune 
As  he  strode  the  fields  along; 
'T  is  said  a  buffalo  fainted  away. 
And  fell  as  cold  as  a  lump  of  clay. 
When  he  heard  the  Giant's  song.  — 

What  are  those  lone  ones  doing  now, 

The  wife  and  the  children  sad? 

Oh,  they  are  in  a  terrible  rout, 

Screaming,  and  throwing  their  pudding  about, 

Acting  as  they  were  mad. 

They  flung  it  over  to  Roxbury  hills. 
They  flung  it  over  the  plain. 
And  all  over  Milton  and  Dorchester  too 
Great  lumps  of  pudding  the  giants  threw, 
They  tumbled  as  thick  as  rain. 

Giant  and  mammoth  have  passed  away,. 
For  ages  have  floated  by; 
The  suet  is  hard  as  a  marrow-bone. 
And  every  plum  is  turned  to  a  stone. 
But  there  the  puddings  lie. 


The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low    85 

And  if,  some  pleasant  afternoon, 

You  '11  ask  me  out  to  ride, 

The  whole  of  the  story  I  will  tell, 

And  70U  shall  see  where  the  puddings  fell, 

And  pay  for  the  punch  beside. 

(Condensed.)   Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  THE  CALDON-LOW 

"And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  where  have  you  been  from  me?" 

"I've  been  to  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low, 
The  midsummer  night  to  see!" 

■"And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 

All  up  on  the  Caldon-Low?" 
"I  saw  the  blithe  sunshine  come  down, 

And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mary, 

AUupontheCaldonHill?" 
"I  heard  the  drops  of  water  made. 

And  I  heard  the  corn-ears  fill." 

"Oh  tell  me  all,  my  Mary  — 

All,  all  that  ever  you  know; 
For  you  must  have  seen  the  Fairies 

Last  night  on  the  Caldon-Low." 


86        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

*'Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother, 

And  listen,  mother  of  mine: 
A  hundred  Fairies  danced  last  night, 

And  the  harpers  they  were  nine; 

**And  merry  was  the  glee  of  the  harp-strings, 
And  their  dancing  feet  so  small; 

But  oh!  the  sound  of  their  talking 
Was  merrier  far  than  all!" 

"And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 

That  you  did  hear  them  say?" 
"I'll  tell  you  all,  my  mother. 

But  let  me  have  my  way. 

"And  some  they  played  with  the  water 

And  rolled  it  down  the  hill; 
*And  this,'  they  said,  'shall  speedily  turn 

The  poor  old  miller's  mill; 

"'For  there  has  been  no  water 

Ever  since  the  first  of  May; 
And  a  busy  man  shall  the  miller  be 

By  the  dawning  of  the  day! 

"'Oh  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh. 
When  he  sees  the  mill-dam  rise! 

The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh, 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes!' 


The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low       87 

"And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds, 

That  sounded  over  the  hill, 
And  each  put  a  horn  into  his  mouth. 

And  blew  so  sharp  and  shrill! 

"'And  there,'  said  they,  'the  merry  winds  go 

Away  from  every  horn; 
And  those  shall  clear  the  mildew  dank 

From  the  blind  old  widow's  corn: 

"*0h,  the  poor  blind  widow  — 

Though  she  has  been  blind  so  long. 

She'll  be  merry  enough  when  the  mildew's 
gone, 
And  the  corn  stands  stiff  and  strong!' 

"And  some  they  brought  the  brown  linseed, 
And  flung  it  down  from  the  Low: 

*And  this,'  said  they,  'by  the  sunrise, 
In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  grow! 

"'Oh,  the  poor  lame  weaver! 

How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax-field 

All  full  of  flowers  by  night!' 

"And  then  upspoke  a  Brownie, 

With  a  long  beard  on  his  chin; 
*I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 

'And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 


88        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

"'I've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen  cloth, 
And  I  want  to  spin  another  — 

A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed 
And  an  apron  for  her  mother!' 

"And  with  that  I  could  not  help  but  laugh. 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free; 

And  then  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low, 
There  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

"And  all  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low 

The  mists  were  cold  and  gray, 
And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones 

That  round  about  me  lay. 

"But,  as  I  came  down  from  the  hill-top, 

I  heard,  afar  below. 
How  busy  the  jolly  miller  was, 

And  how  merry  the  wheel  did  go! 

"And  I  peeped  into  the  widow's  field. 

And,  sure  enough,  was  seen 
The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildewed  corn 

All  standing  stiff  and  green! 

"And  down  by  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole, 

To  see  if  the  flax  were  high; 
But  I  saw  the  weaver  at  his  gate 

With  the  good  news  in  his  eye! 


The  Fairy  Folk  89 

"Now,  this  is  all  that  I  heard,  mother, 

And  all  that  I  did  see; 

So,  prithee,  make  my  bed,  mother, 

For  I'm  tired  as  I  can  be!" 

Mary  Howitt, 

THE   FAIRY  FOLK 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk. 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

And  white  owl's  feather! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home, 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain-lake. 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 


90        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses; 
Or  going  up  with  music, 

On  cold  starry  nights. 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 


They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow; 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 
On  a  bed  of  flag  leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hillside, 

Through  the  mosses  bare. 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  one  up  in  spite? 


The  Fairy  Queen  91 

He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 
In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

And  white  owl's  feather. 

William  Allingham. 


THE  FAIRY  QUEEN 

Come,  follow,  follow  me. 
You,  Fairy  Elves  that  be; 
Which  circle  on  the  greene. 
Come,  follow  Mab  your  Queene. 
Hand  in  hand  let's  dance  around, 
For  this  place  is  fairye  ground. 

When  mortals  are  at  rest, 
And  snoring  in  their  nest: 
Unheard,  and  unespy'd. 
Through  key-holes  we  do  glide; 
Over  tables,  stools,  and  shelves, 
We  trip  it  with  our  Fairy  Elves. 


92        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And,  if  the  house  be  foul 

With  platter,  dish,  or  bowl, 

Up  stairs  we  nimbly  creep. 

And  find  the  sluts  asleep: 
There  we  pinch  their  armes  and  thighes; 
None  escapes,  nor  none  espies. 


But  if  the  house  be  swept. 

And  from  uncleaness  kept. 

We  praise  the  household  maid, 

And  duely  she  is  paid: 
For  we  use  before  we  goe 
To  drop  a  tester  in  her  shoe. 

Upon  a  mushroome's  head 

Our  table-cloth  we  spread; 

A  grain  of  rye,  or  wheat, 

Is  manchet,  which  we  eat; 
Pearly  drops  of  dew  we  drink 
In  acorn  cups  fill'd  to  the  brink. 

The  brains  of  nightingales. 
With  unctuous  fat  of  snailes, 
Between  two  cockles  stew'd. 
Is  meat  that's  easily  chew'd; 
Tailes  of  wormes,  and  marrow  of  mice, 
Do  make  a  dish,  that's  wonderous  nice. 


The  Fairy  Boy  93 

The  grasshopper,  gnat,  and  fly, 

Serve  for  our  minstrelsie; 

Grace  said,  we  dance  a  while, 

And  so  the  time  beguile: 
And  if  the  moon  doth  hide  her  head, 
The  gloe-worm  lights  us  home  to  bed. 

On  tops  of  dewie  grasse 

So  nimbly  do  we  passe. 

The  young  and  tender  stalk 

Ne'er  bends  when  we  do  walk: 
Yet  in  the  morning  may  be  seen 
Where  we  the  night  before  have  been. 
From  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry. 


THE   FAIRY  BOY 

Part  I 

The  Laird  of  Co  has  left  his  hall, 
And  stands  alone  on  the  castle  wall,  — 
His  castle  that  hangs  o'er  the  ocean-waves, 
And  rests  on  the  roofs  of  the  Fairy  Caves. 
Oh,  sad  and  pensive  there  he  stands. 
Though  his  eye  sees  nought  but  his  own  broad 

lands. 
Or  far  or  near  where  his  glance  may  go  — 
And  keen  is  the  glance  of  the  Laird  of  Co! 


94       Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

"A  fond  farewell,  ye  scenes  so  dear, 
A  long,  a  last  farewell,  I  fear. 
For  a  boding  voice  seems  whispering  me, 
*You  never  more  these  scenes  shall  see.' 
But  a  tyrant's  foot  must  now  be  stayed. 
And  my  King  has  asked  my  sword  in  aid; 
So  fare-ye-well,  'tide  weal  or  woe, 
'Tide  life  or  death,  to  the  Laird  of  Co!" 

Now  rests  his  eye  on  the  pennon  gay 
Of  a  bark  that  rides  in  the  open  bay. 
And  spreads  before  the  freshening  gale 
The  swelling  breast  of  her  snowy  sail; 
While  youthful  squire  and  stalwart  knight, 
With  helm  and  corselet  glancing  bright, 
Along  her  decks  impatient  go  — 
"You  tarry  long,  O  Laird  of  Co!" 

"That  comrades  brave  for  me  should  wait!" 

He  quickly  gains  the  castle-gate. 

But  there  a  boy  before  him  stands, 

A  tiny  cup  in  his  tiny  hands. 

*'My  mother  dear  is  weak  and  old, 

Our  home  is  dark,  her  couch  is  cold; 

One  cup  of  wine  on  her  bestow 

For  charity,  O  Laird  of  Co!" 

"Has  never  yet  with  will  of  mine 
Unheeded  been  such  prayer  as  thine. 


The  Fairy  Boy  95 

Ho!  Steward,  take  the  boy  with  thee 
And  fill  his  cup  for  charity. 
For  charity?   Poor  child,  I  pray 
When  from  such  tale  I  turn  away, 
I  dwell  in  home  as  dark  and  low 
As  thine,  that  now  am  Laird  of  Co!" 

With  rapid  step  he  bends  his  way 
To  where  the  bark  rides  in  the  bay, 
Her  decks  with  arms  and  armor  piled, 
When  comes  the  Steward,  staring  wild. 
"That  urchin  strange  —  his  elf-made  cup 
A  butt  of  wine  hath  swallowed  up! 
Yet  not  a  drop  doth  in  it  show  — 
Some  fiend  he  is,  O  Laird  of  Co!" 

"Or  fiend  or  fairy,  sprite  or  child, 
Good  Steward,  let  his  cup  be  filled, 
If  wine  enough  of  mine  there  be, 
For  well  you  know  my  word  hath  he: 
Aye,  every  drop  into  it  pour, 
Till  drained  be  every  vault  and  store; 
Pour  till  his  beaker  overflow  — 
Broke  never  his  word  a  Laird  of  Co!" 

Now  back  again  the  Steward  hies, 
And  views  the  cup  with  wondering  eyes. 
While  trembles  every  joint  and  limb  — 
One  drop  has  filled  it  to  the  brim! 


96        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

The  boy  departing  softly  said: 
"When  he  on  clay-cold  couch  is  laid, 
In  hoiiBi^  mine,  as  dark  and  low, 
I  will  repay  tben^^lid  of  Co." 


Part  II 

Oh,  many  a  summer  sun  has  shone, 
And  many  a  winter  blast  has  blown, 
Since  sailed  to  foreign  wars  away 
The  bark  that  rode  in  the  open  bay! 
And  they  who  were  but  children  then 
Are  women  grown  and  bearded  men. 
And  the  old  are  gone  where  all  must  go 
But  comes  not  home  the  Laird  of  Co. 

In  cell  where  sunlight  never  falls, 

And  the  damp  runs  down  the  blackened  walls. 

And  slowly,  darkly  tracks  its  way 

'Mong  rotting  straw  on  the  floor  of  clay, 

And  rusts  the  fetters  strongly  bound 

Around  the  captive  on  the  ground. 

So  wan  from  suffering  and  woe  — 

Is  this  the  comely  Laird  of  Co! 

"A  soldier's  death  and  soldier's  grave. 
On  battle-field  with  comrades  brave. 
With  lightsome  heart  I  freely  dared, 
Nor  of  them  thought,  nor  for  them  cared; 


The  Fairy  Boy  97 


But  thus,  like  felon  vile,  to  lie 
In  hopeless,  blank  captivity. 
In  dungeon  dark  and  damp  and 
And  I  was  once  the  Lai 


What  light,  what  light,  like  noontide  clear, 
Illumes  the  dungeon  dark  and  drear? 
What  hand  the  door  flings  open  wide, 
As  bar  and  lock-bolts  backward  glide? 
A  child  beside  the  captive  stands. 
His  bosom  crossed  with  folded  hands: 
"I  come  to  pay  the  debt  I  owe. 
Arise,  arise,  poor  Laird  of  Col 

"Arise,  for  thou  art  free  again — " 

His  hand  but  touched  the  captive's  chain, 

And  link  and  loop  and  lock  and  all 

Like  frost-nipped  leaves  in  Autumn  fall: 

And  strong  and  stalwart  under  him 

Becomes  each  shrunken,  wasted  limb, 

And  he  steps  as  stept  he  long  ago, 

When  he  went  to  the  wars,  the  Laird  of  Co! 

They  mount  the  steep  and  winding  stair, 
Where  dust  makes  thick  the  scanty  air; 
And  through  the  gates  that  open  stand 
They  pass  unchallenged,  hand  in  hand. 
The  boy's  bright  eyes  are  fixed  on  high  — 
His  right  hand  pointed  to  the  sky  — 


98        Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

His  foot  he  strikes  on  the  earth  below:  — 
"Now  mount  with  me,  O  Laird  of  Co!" 

Then  up,  up,  up,  to  the  starry  sky! 
They  cleave  the  air  that  rushes  by; 
And  on  and  on  o'er  wood  and  lea. 
O'er  lake  and  river,  shore  and  sea; 
While  hamlets  small  and  cities  vast. 
With  blended  lights  go  glancing  past, 
And  fade  away  in  the  gloom  below  — 
Where  journeys  he,  the  Laird  of  Co? 

On  earth  again,  and  hand  in  hand 

Before  a  castle's  gate  they  stand  — 

A  castle  that  hangs  o'er  the  ocean-waves, 

And  rests  on  the  roofs  of  the  Fairy  Caves. 

"Farewell,  I  thus  the  wine  repay 

You  gave  for  blessed  charity. 

And  your  word  held  sacred  long  ago, 

Farewell,  farewell,  good  Laird  of  Co!" 

From  The  Fairy  Family, 

THE   PIED   PIPER  OF  HAMELIN 

I 

Hamelin  town  's  in  Brunswick, 

By  famous  Hanover  city; 
The  River  Weser,  deep  and  wide. 
Washes  its  walls  on  the  southern  sidej 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin         99 

A  pleasanter  spot  you  never  spied ; 

But,  when  begins  my  ditty, 
Almost  five  hundred  years  ago, 
To  see  the  townsfolk  suffer  so 

From  vermin,  was  a  pity. 

II 

Rats! 
They  fought  the  dogs  and  killed  the  cats, 

And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles. 
And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats, 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cooks'  own 
ladles, 
Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats. 
Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunday  hats, 
And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats. 

By  drowning  their  speaking 

With  shrieking  and  squeaking 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

Ill 

At  last  the  people  in  a  body 

To  the  Town  Hall  came  flocking; 
"'Tis  clear,"  cried  they,  "our  Mayor's  ^ 
noddy. 
And  as  for  our  Corporation  —  shocking 
To  think  we  buy  gowns  lined  with  ermine 
For  dolts  that  can't  or  won't  determine 
What's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  vermin! 


100     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

You  hope,  because  you're  old  and  obese, 
To  find  in  the  furry  civic  robe  ease? 
Rouse  up,  Sirs!   Give  your  brains  a  racking 
To  find  the  remedy  we're  lacking, 
Or,  sure  as  fate,  we'll  send  you  packing!" 
At  this  the  Mayor  and  Corporation 
Quaked  with  a  mighty  consternation. 

IV 

An  hour  they  sate  in  Council; 

At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence: 

"For  a  guilder  I'd  my  ermine  gown  sell; 

I  wish  I  were  a  mile  hence! 

It's  easy  to  bid  one  rack  one's  brain  — 

I'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again, 

I've  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in  vain. 

Oh,  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trap!" 

Just  as  he  said  this,  what  should  hap 

At  the  chamber  door,  but  a  gentle  tap. 

"Bless  us!"  cried  the  Mayor,  "what's  that?" 

(With  the  Corporation  as  he  sat. 

Looking  little  though  wondrous  fat; 

Nor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  molster 

Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster. 

Save  when  at  noon  his  paunch  grew  mutinous 

For  a  plate  of  turtle  green  and  glutinous.) 

"Only  a  scraping  of  shoes  on  the  mat? 

Anything  like  the  sound  of  a  rat 

Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat!" 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin      loi 


"Come  in!"  the  Mayor  cried,  looking  bigger. 
And  in  did  come  the  strangest  figure! 
His  queer  long  coat,  from  heel  to  head 
Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red; 
And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin. 
With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a  pin, 
And  light  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin, 
No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin, 
But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in; 
There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin; 
And  nobody  could  enough  admire 
The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire. 
Quoth  one:  "It's  as  if  my  great-grandsire, 
Starting  up  at  the  trump  of  Doom's  tone, 
Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tomb- 
stone!" 

VI 

He  advanced  to  the  council  table: 

And,  "Please  your  honours,"  said  he,  "I'm 

able. 
By  means  of  a  secret  charm,  to  draw 
All  creatures  living  beneath  the  sun. 
That  creep,  or  swim,  or  fly,  or  run, 
After  me  so  as  you  never  saw! 
And  I  chiefly  use  my  charm 
On  creatures  that  do  people  harm,  — 
The  mole,  the  toad,  the  newt,  the  viper: 


102      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper." 

(And  here  they  noticed  round  his  neck 

A  scarf  of  red  and  yellow  stripe 

To  match  his  coat  of  the  self-same  cheque; 

And  at  the  scarf's  end  hung  a  pipe; 

And    his    fingers,    they    noticed,    were    evel 

straying 
As  if  impatient  to  be  playing 
Upon  his  pipe,  as  low  it  dangled 
Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 
"Yet,"  said  he,  "poor  piper  as  I  am, 
In  Tartary  I  freed  the  Cham, 
Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarms  of  gnats; 
I  eased  in  Asia  the  Nizam 
Of  a  monstrous  brood  of  vampire-bats: 
And  as  for  what  your  brain  bewilders. 
If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats 
Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders.^" 
*'One?  fifty  thousand  1"  was  the  exclamation 
Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corporation. 

VII 

Into  the  street  the  Piper  stept, 

Smiling  first  a  little  smile, 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept. 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled, 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled, 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin       103 

Like  a  candle-flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled; 
And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  had  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered; 
And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumbling; 
And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rum- 
bling; 
And  out  of  the  houses  the  rats  came  tumbling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  grey  rats,  tawny  rats, 
Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  friskers, 

Fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  cousins. 
Cocking  tails,  and  pricking  whiskers, 

Families  by  tens  and  dozens. 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives  — 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped,  advancing, 
And  step  for  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  River  Weser, 
Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished! 
—  Save  one,  who,  stout  as  Julius  Csesar, 
Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  he,  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 
To  Rat-land  home  his  commentary: 
Which  was,  "At  the  first  shrill  notes  of  the  pipe 
I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 
And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe. 
Into  a  cider-press's  gripe: 
And  a  moving  away  of  pickle-tub  boards, 
And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve-cupboards, 


104     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil-flasks, 
And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  butter-casks: 
And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 
(Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 
Is  breathed)  called  out:  'Oh  rats,  rejoice! 
The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  drysaltery! 
So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon, 
Breakfast,  supper,  dinner,  luncheon!' 
And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar-puncheon. 
All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 
Glorious,  scarce  an  inch  before  me, 
Just  as  methought  it  said,  'Come,  bore  me!* 
—  I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me." 

VIII 

You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 
Ringing  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple. 
*'Go,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "and  get  long  poles, 
Poke  out  the  nests,  and  block  up  the  holes! 
Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders. 
And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 
Of  the  rats!"   When  suddenly,  up  the  face 
Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market-place. 
With  a,  "First,  if  you  please,  my  thousand 
guilders!" 

IX 

A  thousand  guilders !  The  Mayor  looked  blue; 
So  did  the  Corporation,  too. 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin       105 

For  council  dinners  made  rare  havoc 
With  Claret,  Moselle,  Vin-de-Grave,  Hock; 
And  half  the  money  would  replenish 
Their  cellar's  biggest  butt  with  Rhenish. 
To  pay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  fellow, 
With  a  gypsy  coat  of  red  and  yellow! 
"Beside,"  quoth  the  Mayor,  with  a  knowing 

wink, 
"Our  business  was  done  at  the  river's  brink; 
We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sink, 
And  what's  dead  can't  come  to  life,  I  think. 
So  friend,  we're  not  the  folks  to  shrink 
From  the  duty  of  giving  you  something  for 

drink, 
And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  your  poke; 
But  as  for  the  guilders,  what  we  spoke 
Of  them,  as  you  very  well  know,  was  in  joke. 
Beside,  our  losses  have  made  us  thrifty. 
A  thousand  guilders!    Come,  take  fifty!" 

X 

The  Piper's  face  fell,  and  he  cried; 
"No  trifling!   I  can't  wait,  beside! 
I've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner-time 
Bagdad,  and  accept  the  prime 
Of  the  Head-Cook's  pottage,  all  he's  rich  In, 
For  having  left.  In  the  Caliph's  kitchen, 
Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor. 
With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver; 


io6     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

With  you,  don't  think  I'll  bate  a  stiver! 
And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 
May  find  me  pipe  after  another  fashion." 


XI 

"How!"    cried    the   Mayor,  "d'ye   think   I 

brook 
Being  worse  treated  than  a  Cook? 
Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald 
With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebald? 
You  threaten  us,  fellow  ?  Do  your  worst; 
Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst!" 

XII 

Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street, 

And  to  his  lips  again 
Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth,  straight  cane; 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such  sweet 
Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air) 
There   was   a    rustling   that    seemed    like   a 

bustling 
Of  merry  crowds  justling   at  pitching    and 

hustling. 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  shoes  clat- 
tering, 
Little  hands  clapping  and  little  tongues  chat- 
tering. 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin      107 

And,  like  fowls  in  a  farmyard  when  barley  is 

scattering, 
Out  came  the  children  running. 
And  all  the  little  boys  and  girls, 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls. 
And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls, 
Tripping  and  skipping  ran  merrily  after 
The   wonderful    music    with   shouting  and 
laughter. 

XIII 

The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council  stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood. 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by, 
—  Could  only  follow  with  the  eye 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 
And  now  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack, 
And  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat, 
As  the  Piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  Its  waters 
Right  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daugh- 
ters! 
However  he  turned  from  South  to  West, 
And  to  Koppelberg  Hill  his  steps  addressed, 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed; 
Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breast. 
"He  never  can  cross  that  mighty  top! 
He's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop, 


lo8      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop!" 
When,   lo,   as   they   reached  the  mountain- 
side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide, 
As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed; 
And  the  Piper  advanced,  and  the  children 

followed. 
And  when  all  were  in  to  the  very  last, 
The  door  in  the  mountain-side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say  all?  No!  One  was  lame. 
And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way; 
And  in  after  years,  if  you  would  blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say:  — 
"It's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates 

left! 
I  can't  forget  that  I  'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see. 
Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me: 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land, 
Joining  the  town  and  just  at  hand. 
Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit  trees  grew, 
And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue, 
And  everything  was  strange  and  new; 
The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks 

here. 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow-deer, 
And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings, 
And  horses  were  born  with  eagles'  wings: 
And  just  as  I  became  assured 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin      109 

My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 

The  music  stopped,  and  I  stood  still, 

And  found  myself  outside  the  hill, 

Left  alone  against  my  will, 

To  go  now  limping  as  before, 

And  never  hear  of  that  country  morel" 

XIV 

Alas,  alas  for  Hamelin! 

There  came  into  many  a  burgher*s  pate 

A  text  which  says  that  Heaven's  gate 

Opes  to  the  rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in! 
The  Mayor  sent  East,  West,  North,  and 

South, 
To  offer  the  Piper,  by  word  of  mouth, 

Wherever  it  was  man's  lot  to  find  him, 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content, 
If  he'd  only  return  the  way  he  went. 

And  bring  the  children  behind  him. 
But  when  they  saw  't  was  a  lost  endeavour. 
And  Piper  and  dancers  were  gone  for  ever. 
They  made  a  decree  that  lawyers  never 

Should  think  their  records  dated  duly 
If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  the  year. 
These  words  did  not  as  well  appear, 
*'And  so  long  after  what  happened  here 

On  the  Twenty-second  of  July, 
Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six": 


no     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And  the  better  in  memory  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  children's  last  retreat, 
They  called  it,  the  Pied  Piper's  Street  — 
Where  any  one  playing  on  pipe  or  tabor 
Was  sure  for  the  future  to  lose  his  labour. 
Nor  suffered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 

To  shock  with  mirth  a  street  so  solemn^ 
But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 

They  wrote  the  story  on  a  column. 
And  on  the  great  church-window  painted 
The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 
How  their  children  were  stolen  away, 
And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day. 
And  I  must  not  omit  to  say 
That  in  Transylvania  there's  a  tribe 
Of  alien  people  that  ascribe 
The  outlandish  ways  and  dress 
On  which  their  neighbours  lay  such  stress. 
To  their  fathers  and  mothers  having  risen 
Out  of  some  subterraneous  prison 
Into  which  they  were  trepanned 
Long  ago  in  a  mighty  band 
Out  of  Hamelin  town  in  Brunswick  land, 
But  how  or  why,  they  don't  understand. 

XV 

So,  Willy,  let  you  and  me  be  wipers 
Of    scores    out    with    all    men,  —  especially 
pipers! 


Goblin  Market  hi 

And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free  from  rats  or 

from  mice, 
If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us  keep 


our  promise! 


Robert  Browning. 


GOBLIN  MARKET 

Part  I 

Morning  and  evening 
Maids  heard  the  Goblins  cry: 
'Come  buy  our  orchard  fruits, 
Come  buy,  come  buy! 
Apples  and  quinces. 
Lemons  and  oranges. 
Plump  unpecked  cherries, 
Melons  and  raspberries. 
Bloom-down-cheeked  peaches, 
Swart-headed  mulberries. 
Wild  free-born  cranberries, 
Crab-appl«s,  dewberries, 
Pine-apples,  blackberries, 
Apricots,  strawberries;  — 
Taste  them  and  try; 
Currants  and  gooseberries, 
Bright-fi re-like  barberries, 
Figs  to  fill  your  mouth. 
Citrons  from  the  south, 


112     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Sweet  to  tongue  and  sound  to  eye; 

Come  buy,  come  buy!" 

Evening  by  evening 

Among  the  brookside  rushes, 

Laura  bowed  her  head  to  hear, 

Lizzie  veiled  her  blushes; 

Crouching  close  together 

In  the  cooling  weather, 

With  clasping  arms  and  cautioning  lips, 

With  tingling  cheeks  and  finger  tips. 
"Lie  close,"  Laura  said, 

Pricking  up  her  golden  head, 
"We  must  not  look  at  Goblin  men, 

We  must  not  buy  their  fruits! 

Who  knows  upon  what  soil  they  fed 

Their  hungry,  thirsty  roots?" 

"Come  buy,"  call  the  Goblins 

Hobbling  down  the  glen. 
"Oh,"  cried  Lizzie,  "Laura,  Laura, 

You  should  not  peep  at  Goblin  men!" 

Lizzie  covered  up  her  eyes. 

Covered  close  lest  they  should  look; 

Laura  reared  her  glossy  head, 

And  whispered  like  the  restless  brook: 
"Look,  Lizzie,  look,  Lizzie, 

Down  the  glen  tramp  little  men. 

One  hauls  a  basket. 

One  bears  a  plate, 


Goblin  Market  113 

One  lugs  a  golden  dish 
Of  many  pounds'  weight. 
How  fair  the  vine  must  grow 
Whose  grapes  are  so  luscious; 
How  warm  the  wind  must  blow 
Through  those  fruit  bushes!" 
*'No,"  said  Lizzie,  "No,  no,  no: 
Their  offers  should  not  charm  us, 
Their  evil  gifts  would  harm  us!" 
She  thrust  a  dimpled  finger 
In  each  ear,  shut  eyes  and  ran. 

Curious  Laura  chose  to  linger 
Wondering  at  each  merchant  man. 
One  had  a  cat's  face. 
One  whisked  a  tail, 
One  tramped  at  a  rat's  pace. 
One  crawled  like  a  snail. 
When  they  reached  where  Laura  was 
They  stood  stock  still  upon  the  moss. 
One  set  his  basket  down. 
One  reared  his  plate; 
One  began  to  weave  a  crown 
Of  tendrils,  leaves,  and  rough  nuts  brown; 
One  heaved  the  golden  weight 
Of  dish  and  fruit  to  offer  her: 
"Come    buy,    come    buy,"    was    still    theif 
cry, 
T.aura  stared  but  did  not  stir, 


114     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Longed  but  had  no  money. 

The  whisk-tailed  merchant  bade  her  taste 

In  tones  as  smooth  as  honey. 

But  sweet-tooth  Laura  spoke  In  haste: 
"Good  Folk,  I  have  no  coin; 

To  take  were  to  purloin. 

I  have  no  copper  in  my  purse, 

I  have  no  silver  either. 

And  all  my  gold  is  on  the  furze 

That  shakes  in  windy  weather 

Above  the  rusty  heather!" 
"You  have  much  gold  upon  your  head," 

They  answered  all  together, 
"Buy  from  us  with  a  golden  curl." 

She  clipped  a  precious  golden  lock, 

She  dropped  a  tear  more  rare  than  pearl, 

Then  sucked  their  fruit-globes  fair  or  red. 

Sweeter  than  the  honey  from  the  rock. 

Stronger  than  man-rejoicing  wine, 

Clearer  than  water  flowed  that  juice; 

She  never  tasted  such  before, 

How  should  it  cloy  with  length  of  use? 

She  sucked,  and  sucked,  and  sucked  the 
more 

Fruits  which  that  unknown  orchard  bore; 

She  sucked  until  her  lips  were  sore; 

Then  flung  the  emptied  rinds  away 

But  gathered  up  one  kernel  stone, 


Goblin  Market  115 

And  knew  not  was  It  night  or  day 
As  she  turned  home  alone. 

Lizzie  met  her  at  the  gate, 
Full  of  wise  upbraldlngs: 
'Dear,  you  should  not  stay  so  late, 
Twilight  is  not  good  for  maidens; 
Should  not  loiter  In  the  glen 
In  the  haunts  of  Goblin  men. 
Do  you  not  remember  Jeanle, 
How  she  met  them  In  the  moonlight. 
Took  their  gifts  both  choice  and  many. 
Ate  their  fruits  and  wore  their  flowers 
Plucked  from  bowers 
Where  summer  ripens  at  all  hours.'' 
But  ever  in  the  moonlight 
She  pined  and  pined  away; 
Sought  them  by  night  and  day, 
Found  them  no  more,  but  dwindled  and 

grew  grey; 
Then  fell  with  the  first  snow; 
While  to  this  day  no  grass  will  grow 
Where  she  lies  low: 
I  planted  daisies  there  a  year  ago 
That  never  blow. 
You  should  not  loiter  sol" 
'Nay,  hush,"  said  Laura, 
'Nay,  hush,  my  sister! 
I  ate  and  ate  my  fill, 


Il6      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Yet  my  mouth  waters  still! 
To-morrow  night  I  will 
Buy  more!"  and  kissed  her. 


Part   II 

Early  in  the  morning 

When  the  first  cock  crowed  his  warning, 

Neat  like  bees,  as  sweet  and  busy, 

Laura  rose  with  Lizzie; 

Fetched  in  honey,  milked  the  cows, 

Aired  and  set  to  rights  the  house, 

Kneaded  cakes  of  whitest  wheat. 

Cakes  for  dainty  mouths  to  eat, 

Next  churned  butter,  whipped  up  cream, 

Fed  their  poultry,  sat  and  sewed; 

Talked  as  modest  maidens  should; 

Lizzie  with  an  open  heart, 

Laura  in  an  absent  dream, 

One  content,  one  sick  in  part; 

One  warbling  for  the  mere  bright  day's 

delight. 
One  longing  for  the  night. 

At  length  slow  evening  came. 

They  went  with  pitchers  to  the  reedy 

brook; 
Lizzie  most  placid  in  her  look, 
Laura  most  like  a  leaping  flame. 


Goblin  Market  117 

They  drew  the  gurgling  water  from  its 
deep. 

Lizzie  plucked  purple  and  rich  golden 
flags, 

Then  turning  homeward  said:  "The  sun- 
set flushes 

Those  furthest  loftiest  crags; 

Come,  Laura,  not  another  maiden  lags. 

No  wilful  squirrel  wags. 

The  beasts  and  birds  are  fast  asleep." 

But  Laura  loitered  still  among  the  rushes, 

And  said  the  bank  was  steep, 

And  said  the  hour  was  early  still, 

The  dew  not  fallen,  the  wind  not  chill; 

Listening  ever,  but  not  catching 

The  customary  cry: 
"Come  buy,  come  buy!" 

Till  Lizzie  urged:  "O  Laura,  come; 

I  hear  the  fruit-call,  but  I  dare  not  look. 

You  should  not  loiter  longer  at  this  brook, 

Come  with  me  home." 

Laura  turned  cold  as  stone 

To  find  her  sister  heard  that  cry  alone, 

That  Goblin  cry, 
"Come  buy  our  fruits,  come  buy!" 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night, 

Laura  kept  watch  in  vain. 

In  sullen  silence  of  exceeding  pain. 


Ii8      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

She  never  caught  again  the  Goblin  cry; 
"Come  buy,  come  buy!" 
She  never  spied  the  Goblin  men 
Hawking  their  fruits  along  the  glen; 
But  when  the  noon  waxed  bright 
Her  hair  grew  thin  and  grey; 
She  dwindled,  as  the  fair  full  moon  doth 

turn 
To  swift  decay  and  burn 
Her  fire  away! 

She  no  more  swept  the  house. 
Tended  the  fowls  or  cows. 
Fetched  honey,  kneaded  cakes  of  wheat, 
Brought  water  from  the  brook; 
But  sat  down  listless  in  the  chimney-nook 
And  would  not  eat. 

Tender  Lizzie  could  not  bear 
To  watch  her  sister's  cankerous  care, 
Yet  not  to  share. 
She  night  and  morning 
Caught  the  Goblin's  cry: 
"Come  buy  our  orchard  fruits. 
Come  buy,  come  buy!" 
Beside  the  brook,  along  the  glen, 
She  heard  the  tramp  of  Goblin  men,  — 
The  voice  and  stir 
Poor  Laura  could  not  hear,  — 
Longed  to  buy  fruit  to  comfort  her, 


Goblin  Market  119 

But  feared  to  pay  too  dear; 

Till  Laura  dwindling 

Seemed  knocking  at  Death's  door. 

Then  Lizzie  weighed  no  more 

Better  and  worse; 

But  put  a  silver  penny  in  her  purse. 

Kissed  Laura,  crossed  the  heath  with 

clumps  of  furze, 
At  twilight,  halted  by  the  brook; 
And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
Began  to  listen  and  look! 

Laughed  every  Goblin 
When  they  spied  her  peeping; 
Came  towards  her  hobbling, 
Flying,  running,  leaping, 
Puffing,  and  blowing. 
Chuckling,  clapping,  crowing, 
Clucking,  and  gobbling, 
Mopping,  and  mowing. 
Full  of  airs  and  graces, 
Pulling  wry  faces. 
Demure  grimaces. 
Hugged  her  and  kissed  her; 
Squeezed  and  caressed  her; 
Stretched  up  their  dishes, 
Panniers,  and  plates: 
'Look  at  our  apples 
Russet  and  dun, 


120     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Bob  at  our  cherries, 
Bite  at  our  peaches, 
Citrons  and  dates, 
Grapes  for  the  asking. 
Pears  red  with  basking 
Out  in  the  sun, 
Plums  on  their  twigs; 
Pluck  them  and  suck  them, — 
Pomegranates,  figs!" 

"Good  Folk,"  said  Lizzie, 
Mindful  of  Jeanie, 

**Give  me  much  and  many." 
Held  out  her  apron, 
Tossed  them  her  penny. 

**Nay,  take  a  seat  with  us, 
Honor  and  eat  with  us," 
They  answered  grinning:  — 

**Our  feast  is  but  beginning. 
Night  yet  is  early, 
Warm  and  dew-pearly. 
Wakeful  and  starry; 
Such  fruits  as  these 
No  man  can  carry; 
Half  their  bloom  would  fly, 
Half  their  dew  would  dry, 
Half  their  flavor  would  pass  hy^ 
Sit  down  and  feast  with  us. 
Be  welcome  guest  with  us. 
Cheer  you  and  rest  with  usP* 


Goblin  Market  121 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lizzie,  "Bui  one  waits 

At  home  alone  for  me; 

So  without  further  parleying. 

If  you  will  not  sell  me  any 

Of  your  fruits  though  much  and  many 

Give  me  back  my  silver  penny 

I  tossed  you  for  a  fee."  — 

They  began  to  scratch  their  pates, 

No  longer  wagging,  purring, 

But  visibly  demurring. 

Grunting  and  snarling.  — 

One  called  her  proud. 

Cross-grained,  uncivil; 

Their  tones  waxed  loud, 

Their  looks  were  evil. 

Lashing  their  tails 

They  trod  and  hustled  her. 

Elbowed  and  jostled  her, 

Twitched  her  hair  out  by  the  roots, 

Stamped  upon  her  tender  feet, 

Held  her  hands  and  squeezed  their  fruits 

Against  her  mouth  to  make  her  eat. 

One  may  lead  a  horse  to  water. 
Twenty  cannot  make  him  drink. 
Though  the  Goblins  cuffed  and  caught 

her, 
Coaxed  and  fought  her. 
Bullied  and  besought  her, 


122     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Scratched  her,  pinched  her  black  as  ink, 

Kicked  and  knocked  her, 

Mauled  and  mocked  her, 

Lizzie  uttered  not  a  word; 

Would  not  open  lip  from  lip 

Lest  they  should  cram  a  mouthful  in; 

But  laughed  in  heart  to  feel  the  drip 

Of  juice  that  syruped  all  her  face. 

And  lodged  in  dimples  of  her  chin. 

And  streaked  her  neck  which  quaked  like 

curd. 
At  last  the  evil  people. 
Worn  out  "by  her  resistance, 
Flung  back  her  penny. 
Kicked  their  fruit. 
Along  whichever  road  they  took. 
Not  leaving  root  or  stone  or  shoot; 
Some  writhed  into  the  ground. 
Some  dived  into  the  brook 
With  ring  and  ripple. 
Some   scudded   on   the   gale   without  a 

sound, 
Some  vanished  in  the  distance. 

In  a  smart,  ache,  tingle, 

Lizzie  went  her  way; 

Knew  not  was  it  night  or  day; 

Sprang  up  the  bank,  tore  thro'  the  furze, 

Threaded  copse  and  dingle, 


Goblin  Market  123 

And  heard  her  penny  jingle 
Bouncing  in  her  purse.  — 
She  cried:  "Laura,"  up  the  garden, 
'Did  you  miss  me? 
Come  and  kiss  me! 
Never  mind  my  bruises, 
Hug  me,  kiss  me,  suck  my  juices 
Squeezed  from  Goblin  fruits  for  you, 
Goblin  pulp  and  Goblin  dew! 
Eat  me,  drink  me,  love  me; 
Laura,  make  much  of  me; 
For  your  sake  I  have  braved  the  glen. 
And  had  to  do  with  Goblin  merchant 


men 


I" 


Laura  started  from  her  chair. 
Flung  her  arms  up  in  the  air, 
Clutched  her  hair: 
"Lizzie,  Lizzie,  have  you  tasted 
For  my  sake  the  fruit  forbidden? 
Must  your  light  like  mine  be  hidden, 
Your  young  life  like  mine  be  wasted, 
Undone  in  mine  undoing, 
And  ruined  in  my  ruin, 
Thirsty,  cankered,  Goblin-ridden?"  — 
She  clung  about  her  sister. 
Kissed  and  kissed  and  kissed  her. 
Her  lips  began  to  scorch. 
That  juice  was  wormwood  to  her  tongue, 


124     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

She  loathed  the  feast; 

Writhing  as  one  possessed  she  leaped 

and  sung, 
Rent  all  her  robe,  and  wrung 
Her  hands  in  lamentable  haste, 
And  beat  her  breast! 
Like  a  lightning-stricken  mast, 
Like  a  wind-uprooted  tree 
Spun  about, 

Like  a  foam-topped  waterspout 
Cast  down  headlong  in  the  sea, 
She  fell  at  last; 

Pleasure  past,  and  anguish  past, 
Is  it  death  or  is  it  life? 

Life  out  of  death. 

That  night  long,  Lizzie  watched  by 

her. 
Counted  her  pulse's  flagging  stir, 
Felt  for  her  breath. 
Held  water  to  her  lips,  and  cooled  her 

face 
With  tears  and  fanning  leaves. 
But  when  the  first  birds  chirped  about 

their  eaves. 
And   early   reapers   plodded   to  the 

place 
Of  golden  sheaves, 
And  dew-wet  grass. 


The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen     125 

Bowed  in  the  morning  winds  so  brisk  to 

pass, 
And  new  buds  with  new  day 
Opened  of  cup-like  lilies  on  the  stream, 
Laura  awoke  as  from  a  dream, 
Laughed  in  the  innocent  old  way, 
Hugged  Lizzie  but  not  twice  or  thrice; 
Her    gleaming    locks    showed    not    one 

thread  of  grey. 
Her  breath  was  sweet  as  May, 
And  light  danced  in  her  eyes. 

{Condensed.)    Christina  Rossetti. 


THE  BROWN  DWARF  OF  RUGEN 

The  pleasant  isle  of  Riigen  looks  the  Baltic 
water  o'er. 

To  the  silver  sanded  beaches  of  the  Pomera- 
nian shore; 

And  in  the  town  of  Rambin  a  little  boy  and 

maid 
Plucked  the  meadow-flowers  together  and  in 

the  sea-surf  played. 

Alike  were  they  in  beauty  if  not  in  their 

degree : 
He  was  the  Amptman's  first-born,  the  miller's 

child  was  she. 


126     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Now  of  old  the  isle  of  Riigen  was  full  of 

Dwarfs  and  Trolls, 
The  brown-faced  little  Earth-men,  the  people 

without  souls; 

And  for  every  man  and  woman  in  Rugen's 

island  found 
Walking  in  air  and  sunshine,  a  Troll  was 

underground. 

It  chanced  the  little  maiden,  one  morning, 

strolled  away 
Among  the  haunted  Nine  Hills,  where  the 

Elves  and  Goblins  play. 

That  day,  in  barley  fields  below,  the  harvest- 
ers had  known 

Of  evil  voices  in  the  air,  and  heard  the  small 
horns  blown. 

She  came  not  back;  the  search  for  her  in  field 

and  wood  was  vain: 
They  cried  her  east,  they  cried  her  west,  but 

she  came  not  again. 

"She's  down  among  the  Brown  Dwarfs," 
said  the  dream-wives  wise  and  old, 

And  prayers  were  made,  and  masses  said,  and 
Rambin's  church  bell  tolled. 


The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen     127 

Five  years  her  father  mourned  her;  and  then 

John  Deitrich  said: 
"I  will  find  my  little  playmate,  be  she  alive 

or  dead." 

He  watched  among  the  Nine  Hills,  he  heard 

the  Brown  Dwarfs  sing, 
And  saw  them  dance  by  moonlight  merrily 

in  a  ring. 

And  when  their  gay-robed  leader  tossed  up 

his  cap  of  red, 
Young  Deitrich  caught  it  as  it  fell,  and  thrust 

it  on  his  head. 

The  Troll  came  crouching  at  his  feet  and  wept 

for  lack  of  it. 
"Oh,  give  me  back  my  magic  cap,  for  your 

great  head  unfit!" 

" Nay,"  Deitrich  said,  "the  Dwarf  who  throws 

his  charmed  cap  away. 
Must  serve  its  finder  at  his  will,  and  for  his 

folly  pay. 

"You  stole  my  pretty  Lisbeth,  and  hid  her  in 

the  earth; 
And  you  shall  ope  the  door  of  glass  and  let 

me  lead  her  forth." 


128     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

**She  will  not  come;  she's  one  of  us;  she's 
mine!"  the  Brown  Dwarf  said, 

*'The  day  is  set,  the  cake  is  baked,  to-morrow 
we  shall  wed." 

"The  fell  fiend  fetch  thee!"  Deitrich  cried, 
"and  keep  thy  foul  tongue  still. 

Quick!  open  to  thy  evil  world,  the  glass  door 
of  the  hill!" 

The  Dwarf  obeyed ;  and  youth  and  Troll  down 

the  long  stairway  passed. 
And  saw  in  dim  and  sunless  light  a  country 

strange  and  vast. 

Weird,  rich,  and  wonderful,  he  saw  the  Elfin 

under-land,  — 
Its  palaces  of  precious  stones,  its  streets  of 

golden  sand. 

He   came   into   a   banquet-hall   with   tables 

richly  spread. 
Where  a  young  maiden  served  to  him  the  red 

wine  and  the  bread. 

How  fair  she  seemed  among  the  Trolls  so 

ugly  and  so  wild! 
Yet  pale  and  very  sorrowful,  like  one  who 

never  smiled! 


The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen      129 

Her  low,  sweet  voice,  her  gold-brown  hair, 
her  tender  blue  eyes  seemed 

Like  something  he  had  seen  elsewhere  or 
something  he  had  dreamed. 

He  looked;  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms;  he  knew 

the  long-lost  one: 
"O  Lisbeth!    See  thy  playmate — I  am  the 
Amptman's  son!" 

She  leaned  her  fair  head  on  his  breast,  and 
through  her  sobs  she  spoke: 

"Oh,  take  me  from  this  evil  place,  and  from 
the  Elfin  folk! 

"And  let  me  tread  the  grass-green  fields  and 

smell  the  flowers  again, 
And  feel  the  soft  wind  on  my  cheek  and  hear 

the  dropping  rain! 

"And  oh,  to  hear  the  singing  bird,  the  rustling 

of  the  tree. 
The   lowing   cows,  the   bleat   of   sheep,   the 

voices  of  the  sea; 

"And  oh,  upon  my  father's  knee  to  sit  beside 

the  door. 
And  hear  the  bell  of  vespers  ring  in  Rambin 

church  once  more!" 


130     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

He  kissed  her  cheek,  he  kissed  her  lips;  the 
Brown  Dwarf  groaned  to  see: 

And  tore  his  tangled  hair  and  ground  his  long 
teeth  angrily. 

But  Deitrich  said:  "For  five  long  years  this 

tender  Christian  maid 
Has  served  you  in  your  evil  world,  and  well 

must  she  be  paid! 

"Haste!  —  hither  bring  me  precious  gems, 

the  richest  in  your  store; 
Then  when  we  pass  the  gate  of  glass,  you'll 

take  your  cap  once  more." 

No  choice  was  left  the  baffled  Troll,  and,  mur- 
muring, he  obeyed, 

And  filled  the  pockets  of  the  youth  and  apron 
of  the  maid. 

They  left  the  dreadful  under-land  and  passed 

the  gate  of  glass; 
They  felt  the  sunshine's  warm  caress,  they 

trod  the  soft,  green  grass. 

And  when,  beneath,  they  saw  the  Dwarf 
stretch  up  to  them  his  brown 

And  crooked  claw-like  fingers,  they  tossed  his 
red  cap  down. 


The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen      131 

Oh,  never  shone  so  bright  a  sun,  was  never 

sky  so  blue, 
As  hand  in  hand  they  homeward  walked  the 

pleasant  meadows  through! 

And  never  sang  the  birds  so  sweet  in  Rambin's 

woods  before. 
And  never  washed  the  waves  so  soft  along  the 

Baltic  shore; 

And  when  beneath  his  door-yard  trees  the 

father  met  his  child, 
The  bells  rung  out  their  merriest  peal,  the 

folks  with  joy  ran  wild. 

And  soon  from  Rambin's  holy  church  the 

twain  came  forth  as  one. 
The  Amptman  kissed  a  daughter,  the  miller 

blest  a  son. 

John  Deitrich's  fame  went  far  and  wide,  and 
nurse  and  maid  crooned  o'er 

Their  cradle  song:  "Sleep  on,  sleep  well,  the 
Trolls  shall  come  no  more!" 

For  in  the  haunted  Nine  Hills  he  set  a  cross 

of  stone; 
And  Elf  and  Brown  Dwarf  sought  in  vain  a 

door  where  door  was  none. 


132     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

The  tower  he  built  in  Rambin,  fair  Riigen's 
pride  and  boast, 

Looked  o'er  the  Baltic  water  to  the  Pome- 
ranian coast; 

And,  for  his  worth  ennobled,  and  rich  beyond 

compare. 
Count  Deitrich  and  his  lovely  bride  dwelt 

long  and  happy  there. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


THE  WORME  OF   LAMETON 

The  Sinning 

It  is  the  joyful  Easter  morn. 

And  the  bells  ring  loud  and  clear. 

Sounding  the  holy  day  of  rest 
Through  the  quiet  vale  of  Wear. 

And  buxom  youth  and  bashful  maid, 

In  holiday  array. 
Thro'  verdant  glade  and  greenwood  shade, 

To  Brigford  bend  their  way. 

And  soon  within  its  sacred  dome 
Their  wandering  steps  are  stayed; 

The  bell  is  rung,  the  mass  is  sung. 
And  the  solemn  prayer  is  prayed. 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  133 

But  why  did  Lambton's  youthful  heir 

Not  mingle  with  the  throng? 
And  why  did  he  not  bend  his  knee, 

Nor  join  in  the  holy  song? 

O  Lambton's  heir  is  a  wicked  man! 

Alike  in  word  and  deed; 
He  makes  a  jest  of  psalm  and  priest, 

Of  the  Ave  and  the  Creed. 

And  Lambton's  heir,  at  the  matin  prayer, 

Or  the  vesper,  is  not  seen; 
And  on  this  day  of  rest  and  peace 

He  hath  donned  his  coat  of  green; 

And  with  his  creel  slung  on  his  back, 

His  light  rod  in  his  hand, 
Down  by  the  side  of  the  shady  Wear 

He  took  his  lonely  stand. 

There  was  no  sound  but  the  rushing  stream, 

The  little  birds  were  still, 
As  if  they  knew  that  Lambton's  heir 

Was  doing  a  deed  of  ill. 

He  threw  his  line,  of  the  costly  twine. 

Across  the  gentle  stream; 
Upon  its  top  the  dun-flies  drop 

Lightly  as  childhood's  dream. 


134     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Again,  again,  —  but  all  in  vain, 

In  the  shallow  or  the  deep; 
No  trout  rose  to  his  cunning  bait; 

He  heard  no  salmon  leap. 

And  now  he  wandered  east  the  stream, 

And  now  he  wandered  west; 
He  sought  each  bank  or  hanging  bush. 

Which  fishes  love  the  best. 

But  vain  was  all  his  skilful  art; 

Vain  was  each  deep  disguise; 
Vain  was  alike  the  varied  bait, 

And  vain  the  mimic  flies. 

The  Worme 

When  tired  and  vexed,  the  castle  bell 

Rung  out  the  hour  of  dine, 
"Now,"  said  the  Lambton's  youthful  heir, 

"A  weary  lot  is  mine!" 

"For  six  long  hours,  this  April  morn, 

My  line  in  vain  I've  cast; 
But  one  more  throw;  come  weal  come  woe. 

For  this  shall  be  the  last!" 

He  took  from  his  bag  a  maggot  worm. 

That  bait  of  high  renown; 
His  line  wheeled  quickly  through  the  air, 

Then  sunk  in  the  water  down. 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  135 

When  he  drew  It  out,  his  ready  hand 
With  no  quivering  motion  shook, 

For  neither  salmon,  trout  nor  ged, 
Had  fastened  on  his  hook; 

But  a  little  thing,  a  strange  formed  iking. 

Like  a  piece  of  muddy  weed; 
But  like  no  fish  that  swims  the  stream, 

Nor  aught  that  crawls  the  mead. 

'T  was  scarce  an  inch  and  a  half  in  length, 

Its  color  the  darkest  green; 
And  on  its  rough  and  scaly  back 

Two  little  fins  were  seen. 

It  had  a  long  and  pointed  snout, 
Like  the  mouth  of  the  slimy  eel. 

And  its  white  and  loosely  hanging  jaws 
Twelve  pin-like  teeth  reveal. 

It  had  sharp  claws  upon  Its  feet. 

Short  ears  upon  its  head, 
A  jointed  tail,  and  quick  bright  eyes, 

That  gleamed  of  a  fiery  red. 

"Art  thou  the  prize,"  said  the  weary  wight, 
"For  which  I  have  spent  my  time; 

For  which  I  have  toiled  till  the  hour  of  noon, 
Since  rang  the  matin  chime!" 


136      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

From  the  side  of  the  dell,  a  crystal  well 

Sends  its  waters  bubbling  by; 
"Rest  there,  thou  ugly  tiny  elf, 

Either  to  live  or  die!" 

He  threw  it  in,  and  when  next  he  came, 

He  saw,  to  his  surprise, 
It  was  a  foot  and  a  half  in  length; 

It  had  grown  so  much  in  size. 
And  its  wings  were  long,  far-stretched  and  strong, 

And  redder  were  its  eyes  ! 

The  Curse 
But  Lambton's  heir  is  an  altered  man,  — 

At  the  church  on  bended  knee. 
Three  times  a  day  he  was  wont  to  pray;  — 

And  now  he's  beyond  the  sea. 

He  has  done  penance  for  his  sins. 

He  has  drank  of  a  sainted  well. 
He  has  joined  the  band  from  the  Holy  Land 

To  chase  the  infidel. 

Where  host  met  host,  and  strife  raged  most, 
His  sword  flashed  high  and  bright; 

Where  force  met  force,  he  winged  his  course. 
The  foremost  in  the  fight. 

Pure  was  his  fame,  unstained  his  shield; 
A  merciful  man  was  he; 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  137 

The  friend  of  the  weak,  he  raised  not  his  hand 
'Gainst  a  fallen  enemy. 

Thus  on  the  plains  of  Palestine, 

He  gained  a  mighty  name, 
And,  full  of  honor  and  renown. 

To  the  home  of  his  childhood  came. 

But  when  he  came  to  his  father's  lands, 

No  cattle  were  grazing  there; 
The  grass  in  the  mead  was  unmown  and  rough, 

And  the  fields  untitled  and  bare. 

And  when  he  came  to  his  father's  hall, 

He  wondered  what  might  ail; 
His  sire  but  coolly  welcomed  him. 

And  his  sister's  cheeks  were  pale. 

*'Now  why,  now  why,  this  frozen  cheer .^ 

What  is  it  that  may  ail? 
Why  tremble  thus  my  father  dear.? 

My  sister,  why  so  pale?" 

**0!  sad  and  woful  has  been  our  lot, 

Whilst  thou  wast  far  away; 
For  a  mighty  Dragon  hath  hither  come 

And  taken  up  its  stay; 
At  night  or  morn  it  sleepeth  not. 

But  watcheth  for  its  prey. 


138     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

'**'T  is  ten  cloth  yards  In  length;  Its  hue 
Is  of  the  darkest  green, 
And  on  Its  rough  and  scaly  back, 
Two  strong  black  wings  are  seen. 

"It  hath  a  long  and  pointed  snout, 
Like  the  mighty  crocodile; 
And,  from  its  grinning  jaws,  stand  out 
Its  teeth  In  horrid  file. 

**It  hath  on  each  round  and  webbed  foot 
Four  sharp  and  hooked  claws; 
And  its  jointed  tail,  with  heavy  trail. 
Over  the  ground  It  draws. 

**It  hath  two  rough  and  hairy  ears 
Upon  its  bony  head; 
Its  eyes  shine  like  the  winter  sun, 
Fearful,  and  darkly  red. 

"Its  roar  is  loud  as  the  thunder's  sound. 
But  shorter  and  more  shrill; 
It  rolls,  with  many  a  heavy  bound. 
Onward  from  hill  to  hill. 

"And  each  morn,  at  the  matin  chime^ 

It  seeks  the  lovely  Wear; 
And,  at  the  noontide  bell, 

It  gorges  Its  fill,  then  seeks  the  hill 
Where  springs  the  crystal  well. 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  139 

"No  knight  has  e'er  returned  who  dared 

The  monster  to  assail. 
Though  he  struck  off  an  ear  or  limb, 

Or  lopt  its  jointed  tail, 
Its  severed  limbs  again  unite, 

Strong  as  the  iron  mail. 

"M7  horses  and  sheep,  and  all  my  kine, 
The  ravenous  beast  hath  killed; 
With  oxen  and  deer,  from  far  and  near, 

Its  hungry  maw  is  filled. 
'T  is  hence  the  mead  is  unmown  and  long, 
And  the  corn-fields  are  untilled! 

"My  son,  to  hail  thee  here  in  health, 
My  very  heart  is  glad; 
But  thou  hast  heard  our  tale  —  and  say, 
Canst  thou  wonder  that  we're  sad."^" 

The  Witch  of  the  Glen 

And  sorrowful  was  Lambton's  heir; 
"My  sinful  act,"  said  he, 
"This  curse  hath  on  the  country  brought, 
Be  it  mine  to  set  it  free!" 

Deep  in  the  dell,  in  a  ruined  hut, 

Far  from  the  homes  of  men. 
There  dwelt  a  witch  the  peasants  called 

Old  Elspat  of  the  Glen. 


140     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

'T  was  a  dark  night,  and  the  stormy  wind 

Howled  with  a  hollow  moan. 
As  through  tangled  copsewood,  bush  and 
briar, 

He  sought  the  aged  crone. 

She  sat  on  a  low  and  three-legg'd  stool, 

Beside  a  dying  fire; 
As  he  lifted  the  latch  she  stirred  the  brands, 

And  the  smoky  flames  blazed  higher. 

She  was  a  woman  weak  and  old. 

Her  form  was  bent  and  thin; 
And  on  her  lean  and  shrivelled  hand, 

She  rested  her  pointed  chin. 

He  entered  with  fear,  that  dauntless  man. 

And  spake  of  all  his  need; 
He  gave  her  gold;  he  asked  her  aid. 

How  best  he  might  succeed. 

"Clothe  thee,"  said  she,  "in  armor  bright, 

In  mail  of  glittering  sheen, 
All  studded  o'er,  behind  and  before, 

With  razors  sharp  and  keen; 

"And  take  in  thy  hand  the  trusty  brand 
Which  thou  bore  beyond  the  sea; 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  141 

And  make  to  the  Virgin  a  solemn  vow, 

If  she  grant  thee  victory: 
What  meets  thee  first,  when  the  strife  is  o^er^ 

Her  offering  shall  be.''' 

The  Dragon 

He  went  to  the  fight,  in  armor  bright, 

Equipped  from  head  to  heel; 
His  gorget  closed,  and  his  visor  shut. 

He  seemed  a  form  of  steel. 

But  with  razor  blades  all  sharp  and  keen. 

The  mail  was  studded  o'er; 
And  his  long  tried  and  trusty  brand 

In  his  greaved  hand  he  bore. 

He  made  to  the  Virgin  a  solemn  vow, 

If  she  granted  victory, 
What  met  him  first  on  his  homeward  path 

Her  sacrifice  should  he. 

He  told  his  sire,  when  he  heard  the  horn. 

To  slip  his  favorite  hound; 
'T  will  quickly  seek  its  master's  side 

At  the  accustomed  sound." 

Forward  he  trod,  with  measured  step, 

To  meet  his  foe,  alone. 
While  the  first  beams  of  the  morning  sun 

On  his  massy  armor  shone. 


142     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

The  monster  slept  on  an  Island  crag 

Lulled  by  the  rustling  Wear, 
Which  eddied  turbid  at  the  base 

Though  elsewhere  smooth  and  clear. 

It  lay  in  repose,  its  wings  were  flat, 

Its  ears  fell  on  its  head, 
Its  legs  stretched  out,  and  drooped  its  snout; 

But  its  eyes  were  fiery  red. 

Little  feared  he,  that  armed  knight. 

As  he  left  the  rocky  shore; 
And  in  his  hand  prepared  for  fight 

His  unsheathed  sword  he  bore. 

As  he  plunged  in,  the  water's  splash 

The  monster  startling  hears; 
It  spreads  Its  wings,  and  the  valley  rings, 

Like  the  clash  of  a  thousand  spears. 

It  bristled  up  its  scaly  back. 

Curled  high  its  jointed  tail, 
And  ready  stood  with  grinning  teeth, 

The  hero  to  assail. 

Then  sprung  at  the  knight,  with  all  its  might, 
And  its  foamy  teeth  it  gnashed; 

With  its  jointed  tall,  like  a  thrasher's  flail, 
The  flinty  rocks  it  lashed. 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  143 

It  rose  on  high,  and  darkened  the  sky, 

Then  with  a  hideous  yell, 
A  moment  winnowed  th'  air  with  its  wings, 

And  down  like  a  mountain  fell. 

He  stood  prepared  for  the  falling  blow, 

But  mournful  was  his  fate; 
Awhile  he  reeled,  then  staggering,  fell 

Beneath  the  monster's  weight. 

And  round  about  its  prostrate  foe 

Its  fearful  length  it  rolled, 
And  clasped  him  close,  till  his  armor  cracked 

Within  its  scaly  fold; 

But  pierced  by  the  blades,  from  body  and 
breast 

Fast  did  the  red  blood  pour; 
Cut  by  the  blades,  piece  fell  by  piece 

And  quivered  in  the  gore. 

Piece  fell  by  piece,  foot  fell  by  foot; 

No  more  is  the  river  clear. 
But  stained  with  blood  as  the  severed  limbs 

Rolled  down  the  rushing  Wear. 

Piece  fell  by  piece,  and  inch  by  inch, 

From  the  body  and  the  tail; 
But  the  head  still  hung  by  the  gory  teeth, 

Tight  fastened  in  the  mail. 


144     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

It  panted  long,  and  fast  It  breathed, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan; 
Its  eyes  grew  dim.  It  loosed  Its  hold, 

And  fell  like  a  lifeless  stone! 


The  Fate  of  Lambton 

Then  loud  he  blew  his  bugle-horn. 

The  blast  of  victory! 
From  rock  to  rock  the  sound  was  borne, 

By  Echo,  glad  and  free; 
For,  burdened  long  by  the  Dragon's  roar. 

She  joyed  In  her  liberty! 

But  not  his  hound,  with  gladdened  bound, 

Comes  leaping  at  the  call; 
With  feelings  dire  he  sees  his  sire 

Rush  from  his  ancient  hall! 

When  Lambton's  anxious  listening  Lord 

Heard  the  bugle-note  so  wild. 
He  thought  no  more  of  his  plighted  word, 

But  ran  to  clasp  his  child! 

"Strange  is  my  lot,"  said  the  luckless  wight, 
"How  sorrow  and  joy  combine! 

When  high  in  fame  to  my  home  I  came. 
My  kindred  did  weep  and  pine. 


The  Worme  of  Lambton  145 

"This  morn  my  triumph  sees,  and  sees 

Dishonor  light  on  me; 
For  I  had  vowed  to  the  Holy  Maid 

If  she  gave  me  victory, 
What  first  I  met,  when  the  fight  was  o'er. 

Her  offering  should  he  ! 

"  I  thought  to  have  slain  my  gallant  hound, 

Beneath  my  unwilling  knife; 
But  I  cannot  raise  my  hand  on  him 

Who  gave  my  being  life!" 

And  heavy  and  sorrowful  was  his  heart, 

And  he  hath  gone  again 
To  seek  advice  of  the  wise  woman, 

Old  Elspat  of  the  Glen. 

"Since  thy  solemn  vow  is  unfulfilled. 

Though  greater  be  thy  fame, 
Thou  must  a  lofty  chapel  build 

To  the  Virgin  Mary's  name. 

"On  nine  generations  of  thy  race, 

A  heavy  curse  shall  fall; 
They  may  die  in  the  fight  or  in  the  chase, 

But  not  in  their  native  hall!" 

He  bullded  there  a  chapel  fair. 
And  rich  endowment  made, 


146     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Where  morn  and  eve,  by  cowled  monks 

In  sable  garb  arrayed, 
The  bell  was  rung,  the  mass  was  sung, 

And  the  solemn  prayer  was  made. 

{Condensed.)  J.  Watson, 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  DRAGON 

Of  Hector's  deeds  did  Homer  sing, 
And  of  the  sack  of  stately  Troy, 

What  griefs  fair  Helena  did  bring. 
Which  was  Sir  Paris's  only  joy; 

And  by  my  pen  I  will  recite 

St.  George's  deeds,  an  English  knight. 

Against  the  Sarazens  so  rude 

Fought  he  full  long  and  many  a  day, 

Where  many  giants  he  subdued, 
In  honor  of  the  Christian  way; 

And  after  many  adventures  past, 

To  Egypt  land  he  came  at  last. 

Now,  as  this  story  plain  doth  tell, 
Within  that  country  there  did  rest 

A  dreadful  Dragon  fierce  and  fell. 

Whereby  they  were  full  sore  oppressed; 

Who  by  his  poisonous  breath  each  day 

Did  many  of  the  city  slay. 


St.  George  and  the  Dragon      147 

The  grief  whereof  did  grow  so  great 
Throughout  the  limits  of  the  land, 

That  they  their  wise-men  did  entreat 
To  show  their  cunning  out  of  hand; 

What  way  they  might  this  fiend  destroy, 

That  did  the  country  thus  annoy. 

The  wise-men  all  before  the  King, 
This  answer  fram'd  incontinent: 

The  Dragon  none  to  death  might  bring 
By  any  means  they  could  invent; 

His  skin  more  hard  than  brass  was  found, 

That  sword  nor  spear  could  pierce  nor  wound. 

When  this  the  people  understood, 

They  cryed  out  most  piteously. 
The  Dragon's  breath  infects  their  blood. 

That  every  day  In  heaps  they  die; 
Among  them  such  a  plague  it  bred, 
The  living  scarce  could  bury  the  dead. 

No  means  there  were,  as  they  could  hear, 
For  to  appease  the  Dragon's  rage. 

But  to  present  some  virgin  clear, 

Whose  blood  his  fury  might  assuage; 

Each  day  he  would  a  maiden  eat. 

For  to  allay  his  hunger  great. 

This  thing  by  art  the  wise-men  found, 
Which  truly  must  observed  be; 


148     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

Wherefore,  throughout  the  city  round, 

A  virgin  pure  of  good  degree 
Was,  by  the  King's  commission,  still 
Taken  up  to  serve  the  Dragon's  will. 

Thus  did  the  Dragon  every  day 
Untimely  crop  some  virgin  flower, 

Till  all  the  maids  were  worn  away. 
And  none  were  left  him  to  devour; 

Saving  the  King's  fair  daughter  bright. 

Her  father's  only  heart's  delight. 

Then  came  the  officers  to  the  King, 
That  heavy  message  to  declare, 

Which  did  his  heart  with  sorrow  sting; 
"She  is,"  quoth  he,  "my  kingdom's  heir; 

O  let  us  all  be  poisoned  here, 

Ere  she  should  die,  that  is  my  dear." 

Then  rose  the  people  presently. 

And  to  the  King  in  rage  they  went; 

They  said  his  daughter  dear  should  die. 
The  Dragon's  fury  to  prevent: 

"Our  daughters  all  are  dead,"  quoth  they, 

"And  have  been  made  the  Dragon's  prey; 

Aiiid  by  their  blood  we  rescued  were. 
And  thou  hast  saved  thy  life  thereby; 

And  now  in  sooth  it  is  but  fair, 

For  us  thy  daughter  so  should  die." 


St.  George  and  the  Dragon      149 

"O  save  my  daughter,"  said  the  King, 
"And  let  me  feel  the  Dragon's  sting." 

Then  fell  fair  Sabra  on  her  knee, 

And  to  her  father  dear  did  say: 
"O  father,  strive  not  thus  for  me, 

But  let  me  be  the  Dragon's  prey; 
It  may  be,  for  my  sake  alone 
This  plague  upon  the  land  was  thrown." 

"'T  is  better  I  should  die,"  she  said, 
"Than  all  your  subjects  perish  quite; 

Perhaps  the  Dragon  here  was  laid. 
For  my  offence  to  work  his  spite, 

And  after  he  hath  sucked  my  gore. 

Your  land  shall  feel  the  grief  no  more." 

"What  hast  thou  done,  my  daughter  dear, 
For  to  deserve  this  heavy  scourge.^ 

It  is  my  fault,  as  may  appear, 

Which  makes  the  gods  our  state  to  purge; 

Then  ought  I  die,  to  stint  the  strife, 

And  to  preserve  thy  happy  life." 

Like  mad-men,  all  the  people  cried: 
"Thy  death  to  us  can  do  no  good; 

Our  safety  only  doth  abide 

In  making  her  the  Dragon's  food." 

"Lo!  here  I  am,  I  come,"  quoth  she, 

"Therefore  do  what  you  will  with  me." 


150     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

"Nay  stay,  dear  daughter,"  quoth  the  Queen, 
"And  as  thou  art  a  virgin  bright. 

That  hast  for  virtue  famous  been, 
So  let  me  clothe  thee  all  in  white; 

And  crown  thy  head  with  flowers  sweet, 

An  ornament  for  virgins  meet." 

And  when  she  was  attired  so, 
According  to  her  mother's  mind, 

Unto  the  stake  then  did  she  go, 

To  which  her  tender  limbs  they  bind; 

And  being  bound  to  stake  a  thrall, 

She  bade  farewell  unto  them  all. 

"Farewell,  my  father  dear,"  quoth  she, 
"And  my  sweet  mother  meek  and  mild; 

Take  you  no  thought  nor  weep  for  me, 
For  you  may  have  another  child; 

Since  for  my  country's  good  I  die, 

Death  I  receive  most  willingly." 

The  King  and  Queen  and  all  their  train 
With  weeping  eyes  went  then  their  way, 

And  let  their  daughter  there  remain. 
To  be  the  hungry  Dragon's  prey: 

But  as  she  did  there  weeping  lie, 

Behold  St.  George  came  riding  by. 

And  seeing  there  a  lady  bright 
So  rudely  tied  unto  a  stake. 


St.  George  and  the  Dragon      151 

As  well  became  a  valiant  knight, 
He  straight  to  her  his  way  did  take: 

"Tell  me,  sweet  maiden,"  then  quoth  he, 
"What  caitiff  thus  abuseth  thee? 

"And,  lo!  by  Christ  his  cross  I  vow, 
Which  here  is  figured  on  my  breast, 

I  will  revenge  it  on  his  brow, 

And  break  my  lance  upon  his  chest;" 

And  speaking  thus  whereas  he  stood, 

The  Dragon  issued  from  the  wood. 

The  lady,  that  did  first  espy 

The  dreadful  Dragon  coming  so. 

Unto  St.  George  aloud  did  cry. 
And  willed  him  away  to  go; 

"Here  comes  that  cursed  fiend,"  quoth  she, 

"That  soon  will  make  an  end  of  me." 

St.  George  then  looking  round  about, 

The  fiery  Dragon  soon  espied, 
And  like  a  knight  of  courage  stout, 

Against  him  did  most  furiously  ride; 
And  with  such  blows  he  did  him  greet. 
He  fell  beneath  his  horse's  feet. 

For  with  his  lance  that  was  so  strong. 

As  he  came  gaping  in  his  face. 
In  at  his  mouth  he  thrust  along; 

For  he  could  pierce  no  other  place: 


152     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

And  thus  within  the  lady's  view 
This  mighty  Dragon  straight  he  slew. 

The  savor  of  his  poisoned  breath 
Could  do  this  holy  knight  no  harm; 

Thus  he  the  lady  saved  from  death, 
And  home  he  led  her  by  the  arm; 

Which  when  King  Ptolemy  did  see. 

There  was  great  mirth  and  melody. 

When  as  that  valiant  champion  there 
Had  slain  the  Dragon  in  the  field. 

To  court  he  brought  the  lady  fair, 

Which  to  their  hearts  much  joy  did  yield, 

He  in  the  court  of  Egypt  staid 

Till  he  most  falsely  was  betrayed. 

(Condensed.)    Old  Ballad. 


THE  DAY-DREAM 

The  Sleeping  Palace 

I 

The  varying  year  with  blade  and  sheaf 
Clothes  and  reclothes  the  happy  plains;' 

Here  rests  the  sap  within  the  leaf, 
Here  stays  the  blood  along  the  veins. 

Faint  shadows,  vapors  lightly  curl'd. 
Faint  murmurs  from  the  meadows  come, 


The  Day-Dream  153 

Like  hints  and  echoes  of  the  world 
To  spirits  folded  in  the  womb. 


II 

Soft  luster  bathes  the  range  of  urns 

On  every  slanting  terrace-lawn. 
The  fountain  to  his  place  returns 

Deep  in  the  garden  lake  withdrawn. 
Here  droops  the  banner  on  the  tower, 

On  the  hall-hearths  the  festal  fires, 
The  peacock  in  his  laurel  bower. 

The  parrot  in  his  gilded  wires. 

Ill 

Roof-haunting  martins  warm  their  eggs: 

In  these,  in  those  the  life  is  stay'd. 
The  mantles  from  the  golden  pegs 

Droop  sleepily;  no  sound  is  made. 
Not  even  of  a  gnat  that  sings. 

More  like  a  picture  seemeth  all 
Than  those  old  portraits  of  old  kings, 

That  watch  the  sleepers  from  the  wall. 

IV 

Here  sits  the  butler  with  a  flask 

Between  his  knees,  half-drain'd;  and  there 
The  wrinkled  steward  at  his  task, 

The  maid-of-honor  blooming  fair, 


154     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

The  page  has  caught  her  hand  in  his; 

Her  lips  are  sever'd  as  to  speak; 
His  own  are  pouted  to  a  kiss: 

The  blush  is  fix'd  upon  her  cheek. 


Till  all  the  hundred  summers  pass, 

The  beams,  that  thro'  the  Oriel  shine, 
Make  prisms  in  every  carven  glass. 

And  beaker  brimm'd  with  noble  wine. 
Each  baron  at  the  banquet  sleeps. 

Grave  faces  gather'd  in  a  ring. 
His  state  the  King  reposing  keeps. 

He  must  have  been  a  jovial  king. 

VI 

All  round  a  hedge  upshoots,  and  shows 

At  distance  like  a  little  wood; 
Thorns,  ivies,  woodbine,  mistletoes. 

And  grapes  with  bunches  red  as  blood; 
All  creeping  plants,  a  wall  of  green 

Close-matted,  burr  and  brake  and  brier, 
And  glimpsing  over  these,  just  seen. 

High  up,  the  topmost  palace-spire. 

VII 

When  will  the  hundred  summers  die. 
And  thought  and  time  be  born  again, 


The  Day-Dream  155 

And  newer  knowledge,  drawing  nigh, 
Bring  truth  that  sways  the  soul  of  men? 

Here  all  things  in  their  place  remain, 
As  all  were  order'd,  ages  since. 

Come,  Care  and  Pleasure,  Hope  and  Pain, 

V   And  bring  the  fated  fairy  Prince. 


The  Sleeping  Beauty 

I 

Year  after  year  unto  her  feet, 

She  lying  on  her  couch  alone. 
Across  the  purple  coverlet, 

The  maiden's  jet-black  hair  has  grown, 
On  either  side  her  tranced  form 

Forth  streaming  from  a  braid  of  pearl; 
The  slumbrous  light  is  rich  and  warm. 

And  moves  not  on  the  rounded  curl. 

II 

The  silk  star-broider'd  coverlid 

Unto  her  limbs  itself  doth  mould 
Languidly  ever;  and,  amid 

Her  full  black  ringlets  downward  roll'd. 
Glows  forth  each  softly-shadow'd  arm 

With  bracelets  of  the  diamond  bright: 
Her  constant  beauty  doth  inform 

Stillness  with  love,  and  day  with  light. 


156     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

III 

She  sleeps;  her  breathings  are  not  heard 

In  palace  chambers  far  apart. 
The  fragrant  tresses  are  not  stirr'd 

That  lie  upon  her  charmed  heart. 
She  sleeps;  on  either  hand  upswells 

The  gold-fringed  pillow  lightly  prest; 
She  sleeps,  nor  dreams,  but  ever  dwells 

A  perfect  form  in  perfect  rest.  . 

The  Arrival 

I 

All  precious  things,  discover'd  late. 

To  those  that  seek  them  issue  forth; 
For  love  in  sequel  works  with  fate, 

And  draws  the  veil  from  hidden  worth. 
He  travels  far  from  other  skies  — 

His  mantle  glitters  on  the  rocks  — 
A  fairy  Prince,  with  joyful  eyes, 

And  lighter-footed  than  the  fox. 

II 

The  bodies  and  the  bones  of  those 
That  strove  in  other  days  to  pass, 

Are  wither'd  in  the  thorny  close, 
Or  scatter'd  blanching  on  the  grass. 

He  gazes  on  the  silent  dead: 

"They  perish'd  in  their  daring  deeds.'*, 


The  Day-Dream  157 

This  proverb  flashes  thro'  his  head, 
"The  many  fail;  the  one  succeeds." 

Ill 

He  comes,  scarce  knowing  what  he  seeks; 

He  breaks  the  hedge;  he  enters  there; 
The  color  flies  into  his  cheeks: 

He  trusts  to  light  on  something  fair; 
For  all  his  life  the  charm  did  talk 

About  his  path,  and  hover  near 
With  words  of  promise  in  his  walk, 

And  whisper'd  voices  at  his  ear. 

IV 

More  close  and  close  his  footsteps  wind; 

The  Magic  Music  in  his  heart, 
Beats  quick  and  quicker,  till  he  find 

The  quiet  chamber  far  apart. 
His  spirit  flutters  like  a  lark. 

He  stoops  —  to  kiss  her  —  on  his  knee. 
"Love,  if  thy  tresses  be  so  dark. 

How  dark  those  hidden  eyes  must  be!" 

The  Revival 

I 

A  touch,  a  kiss!  the  charm  was  snapt. 

There  rose  a  noise  of  striking  clocks. 
And  feet  that  ran,  and  doors  that  clapt. 

And  barking  dogs,  and  crowing  cocks; 


158      Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 

A  fuller  light  Illumined  all, 

A  breeze  thro'  all  the  garden  swept, 
A  sudden  hubbub  shook  the  hall. 

And  sixty  feet  the  fountain  leapt. 

II 

The  hedge  broke  in,  the  banner  blew. 

The  butler  drank,  the  steward  scrawl'd, 
The  fire  shot  up,  the  martin  flew. 

The  parrot  scream'd,  the  peacock  squall'd, 
The  maid  and  page  renew'd  their  strife. 

The  palace  bang'd,  and  buzz'd  and  clackt, 
And  all  the  long-pent  stream  of  life 

Dash'd  downward  In  a  cataract. 

Ill 

And  last  with  these  the  King  awoke. 

And  In  his  chair  himself  uprear'd, 
And  yawn'd,  and  rubb'd  his  face,  and  spoke: 

"By  holy  rood,  a  royal  beard! 
How  say  you  ?  we  have  slept,  my  lords. 

My  beard  has  grown  Into  my  lap." 
The  barons  swore,  with  many  words, 

'T  was  but  an  after-dinner's  nap. 

IV 

"Pardy,"  return'd  the  King,  "but  still 
My  joints  are  somewhat  stiff  or  so. 


The  Day-Dream  159 

My  lord,  and  shall  we  pass  the  bill 
I  mention'd  half  an  hour  ago?" 

The  chancellor,  sedate  and  vain, 
In  courteous  words  return'd  reply; 

But  dallied  with  his  golden  chain, 
And,  smiling,  put  the  question  by. 


The  Departure 


And  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant, 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold, 
And  far  across  the  hills  they  went 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old; 
Across  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
And  deep  into  the  dying  day 

The  happy  Princess  follow'd  him. 

II 

"I'd  sleep  another  hundred  years, 

O  love,  for  such  another  kiss;" 
"O  wake  for  ever,  love,"  she  hears, 

"O  love,  't  was  such  as  this  and  this." 
And  o'er  them  many  a  sliding  star. 

And  many  a  merry  wind  was  borne, 
And,  stream'd  thro'  many  a  golden  bar, 

The  twilight  melted  into  morn. 


i6o     Fairies,  Magic,  and  Mystery 


III 

"O  eyes  long  laid  in  happy  sleep!" 

"O  happy  sleep,  that  lightly  fled!" 
"O  happy  kiss,  that  woke  thy  sleep!" 

"O  love,  thy  kiss  would  wake  the  dead!" 
And  o'er  them  many  a  flowing  range 

Of  vapor  buoy'd  the  crescent-bark, 
And,  rapt  thro'  many  a  rosy  change, 

The  twilight  died  into  the  dark. 

IV 

"A  hundred  summers!  can  it  be? 

And  whither  goest  thou,  tell  me  where?" 
"O  seek  my  father's  court  with  me, 

For  there  are  greater  wonders  there." 
And  o'er  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
Beyond  the  night,  across  the  day. 

Thro'  all  the  world  she  follow'd  him. 

Alfred  Lord  Tennyson. 


JOLLY   RHYMES   AND    POEMS 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  PUSSY-CAT 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat; 
They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  moon  above, 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar: 
"O  lovely  Pussy!    O  Pussy,  my  love! 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are,  — 
You  are. 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are!" 

Pussy  said  to  the  Owl:  "You  elegant  fowl! 

How  charmingly  sweet  you  sing! 
O   let  us  be   married,  —  too   long    we  have 
tarried,  — 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring?" 
They  sailed  away  for  a  year  and  a  day 

To  the  land  where  the  Bong-tree  grows, 
And  there  in  a  wood,  a  piggy-wig  stood 

With  a  ring  in  the  end  of  his  nose,  — 
His  nose, 

With  a  ring  in  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"Dear  Pig,   are  you   willing  to  sell  for  one 
shilling 
Your  ring?"    Said  the  piggy,  "I  will." 


164        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next 

day 
By  the  turkey  \vho  lives  on  the  hill. 
They  dined  upon  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon, 
And  hand  in  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  sand 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  — 

The  moon, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Edward  Lear, 


THE   DONKEY  AND  THE 
MOCKING-BIRD 

A  MOCK-BIRD  in  a  village 

Had  somehow  gained  the  skill 

To  imitate  the  voices 
Of  animals  at  will. 

And,  singing  in  his  prison 

Once,  at  the  close  of  day. 
He  gave,  with  great  precision, 

The  donkey's  heavy  bray. 

Well  pleased,  the  mock-bird's  master 
Sent  to  the  neighbors  'round. 

And  bade  them  come  together 
To  hear  that  curious  sound. 


Old  Man  Who  Lived  in  a  Wood     165 

They  came,  and  all  were  talking 
In  praise  of  what  they  heard, 

And  one  delighted  lady 

Would  fain  have  bought  the  bird. 

A  donkey  listened  sadly, 

And  said:  "Confess  I  must 
That  these  are  stupid  people, 

And  terribly  unjust. 

*'I'm  bigger  than  the  mock-bird, 
And  better  bray  than  he. 
Yet  not  a  soul  has  uttered 
A  word  in  praise  of  me." 

From  the  Spanish  of  Jose  Rosas. 
Translated  by  W.  C.  Bryant. 


THE  OLD  MAN  WHO  LIVED 
IN  A  WOOD 

There  was  an  old  man  who  lived  in  a  wood, 

As  you  may  plainly  see; 
He  said  he  could  do  as  much  work  in  a  day. 

As  his  wife  could  do  in  three. 
"With  all  my  heart,"  the  old  woman  said, 

"  If  that  you  will  allow, 
To-morrow  you  '11  stay  at  home  in  my  stead. 

And  I'll  go  drive  the  plough; 


l66        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

*'  But  you  must  milk  the  Tidy  cow, 

For  fear  that  she  go  dry; 
And  you  must  feed  the  little  pigs 

That  are  within  the  sty; 
And  you  must  mind  the  speckled  hen, 

For  fear  she  lay  away; 
And  you  must  reel  the  spool  of  yarn 

That  I  span  yesterday." 

The  old  woman  took  a  staff  in  her 
hand, 

And  went  to  drive  the  plough; 
The  old  man  took  a  pail  in  his  hand^ 

And  went  to  milk  the  cow; 
But  Tidy  hinched,  and  Tidy  flinched, 

And  Tidy  broke  his  nose, 
And  Tidy  gave  him  such  a  blow, 

That  the  blood  ran  down  to  his  toes. 

"High!  Tidy!  ho!  Tidy!  high! 

Tidy,  do  stand  still! 
If  ever  I  milk  you,  Tidy,  again, 

'T  will  be  sore  against  my  will." 

He  went  to  feed  the  little  pigs, 

That  were  within  the  sty; 
He  hit  his  head  against  the  beam 

And  he  made  the  blood  to  fly. 


The  Enchanted  Shirt  167 

He  went  to  mind  the  speckled  hen, 

For  fear  she'd  lay  astray, 
And  he  forgot  the  spool  of  yarn 

His  wife  spun  yesterday. 

So  he  swore  by  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars, 
And  the  green  leaves  on  the  tree, 

If  his  wife  did  n't  do  a  day's  work  in  her  life. 
She  should  ne'er  be  ruled  by  he. 

Old  Rhyme. 


THE  ENCHANTED   SHIRT 

Fytte  the  First :  wherein  it  shall  be  shown  how  the  Truth 
is  too  mighty  a  Drug  for  such  as  be  of  feeble  temper. 

The  King  was  sick.     His  cheek  was  red, 
And  his  eye  was  clear  and  bright; 

He  ate  and  drank  with  kingly  zest, 
And  peacefully  snored  at  night. 

But  he  said  he  was  sick,  and  a  king  should 
know, 

And  the  doctors  came  by  the  score. 
They  did  not  cure  him.  He  cut  off  their  heads. 

And  sent  to  the  schools  for  more. 

At  last  two  famous  doctors  came, 
And  one  was  as  poor  as  a  rat,  — 


i68        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

He  had  passed  his  life  in  studious  toil, 
And  never  found  time  to  grow  fat. 

The  other  had  never  looked  in  a  book; 

His  patients  gave  him  no  trouble: 
If  they  recovered,  they  paid  him  well; 

If  they  died,  their  heirs  paid  double. 

Together  they  looked  at  the  royal  tongue. 
As  the  King  on  his  couch  reclined; 

In  succession  they  thumped  his  august  chest, 
But  no  trace  of  disease  could  find. 

The  old  Sage  said:  "You'r©  as  sound  as  a 

nut." 
"Hang  him  up,"  roared  the  King  in  a  gale  — 
In  a  ten-knot  gale  of  royal  rage; 
The  other  leech  grew  a  shade  pale; 

But  he  pensively  rubbed  his  sagacious  nose. 
And  thus  his  prescription  ran  — 

The  King  will  he  well,  if  he  sleeps  one  night 
In  the  Shirt  of  a  Happy  Man. 

Fytte  the  Second :  tells  of  the  search  for  the  Shirt  and 
how  it  was  nigh  found  but  was  not,  for  reasons  which 
are  said  or  sung. 

Wide  o'er  the  realm  the  couriers  rode, 
A.nd  fast  their  horses  ran. 


The  Enchanted  Shirt  169 

And  many  they  saw,  and  to  many  they  spoke, 
But  they  found  no  Happy  Man. 

They  found  poor  men  who  would  fain  be 
rich, 

And  rich  who  thought  they  were  poor; 
And  men  who  twisted  their  waists  in  stays, 

And  women  who  short  hose  wore. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  village  gate, 

A  beggar  lay  whistling  there; 
He   whistled,   and   sang,   and  laughed,  and 
rolled 

On  the  grass,  in  the  soft  June  air. 

The  weary  couriers  paused  and  looked 
At  the  scamp  so  blithe  and  gay; 

And  one  of  them  said:  "Heaven  save  you, 
friend ! 
You  seem  to  be  happy  to-day.'* 

"O  yes,  fair  sirs,"  the  rascal  laughed, 
And  his  voice  rang  free  and  glad; 

"An  idle  man  has  so  much  to  do 
That  he  never  has  time  to  be  sad.'* 

"This  is  our  man,"  the  courier  said; 
"Our  luck  has  led  us  aright. 


170         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

I  will  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  friend, 
For  the  loan  of  your  shirt  to-night." 

The  merry  blackguard  lay  back  on  the  grass, 
And  laughed  till  his  face  was  black; 

*'I  would  do  it,  God  wot,"  and  he  roared 
with  the  fun, 
"But  I  have  n't  a  shirt  to  my  back." 

Fytte  the   Third:  shewing  how  His  Majesty  the  King 
came  at  last  to  sleep  in  a  Happy  Man  his  Shirt. 

Each  day  to  the  King  the  reports  came  in 

Of  his  unsuccessful  spies. 
And  the  sad  panorama  of  human  woes 

Passed  daily  under  his  eyes. 

And  he  grew  ashamed  of  his  useless  life, 
And  his  maladies  hatched  in  gloom; 

He  opened  his  windows  and  let  the  air 
Of  the  free  heaven  into  his  room. 

And  out  he  went  in  the  world,  and  toiled 

In  his  own  appointed  way; 
And  the  people  blessed  him,  the  land  was 
glad. 
And  the  King  was  well  and  gay. 

John  Hay. 


Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  171 

THE  DIVERTING  HISTORY  OF 
JOHN  GILPIN 

Showing  How  He  Went  Farther  Than  He  Intended,  and 
Came  Safe  Home  Again 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renownj 
A  train-band  Captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear: 
"Though  wedded  we  have  been 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 
No  holiday  have  seen. 

*' To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day. 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

**My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child, 

Myself  and  children  three. 
Will  fill  the  chaise,  so  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied:  —  "I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one. 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear. 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 


172         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"I  am  a  linen-draper  bold, 

As  all  the  world  doth  know, 
And  my  good  friend  the  Calender 

Will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin:  —  "That's  well  said;: 

And,  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnish'd  with  our  own. 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear." 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife; 

O'erjoyed  was  he  to  find, 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stay'd,' 

Where  they  did  all  get  in; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels, 

Were  never  folk  so  glad; 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 


Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  173 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again; 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he, 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came;  for  loss  of  time, 

Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew, 

Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

*T  was  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty  screaming,  came  downstairs: 

"The  wine  is  left  behind!" 

"Good  lack!"  quoth  he, —  "yet  bring  It  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise,, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword. 

When  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin    (careful  soul!) 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found, 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved. 

And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 


174        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew. 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side, 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brush'd  and  neat. 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot. 

Which  gall'd  him  in  his  seat, 

So  "Fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried. 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright, 
He  grasp'd  the  mane  with  both  his  hands. 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 


Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  175 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out, 

Of  running  such  a  rig! 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay, 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  scream'd, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all, 
And  ev'ry  soul  cried  out:  "Well  done!" 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin  —  who  but  he? 

His  fame  soon  spread  around; 
"He  carries  weight!"   "He  rides  a  race!'*' 

"'T  is  for  a  thousand  pound!" 


176         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'T  was  wonderful  to  view, 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike-men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen. 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seem'd  to  carry  weight, 
With  leathern  girdle  braced, 

For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks 
Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 
These  gambols  he  did  play, 

Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 
Of  Edmonton  so  gay; 

And  there  he  threw  the  Wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way. 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild-goose  at  play. 


Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  177 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wond'ring  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"Stop,    stop,    John    Gilpin!  —  Here's     the 
house!" 

They  all  at  once  did  cry; 
**The  dinner  waits  and  we  are  tired:" 

Said  Gilpin:  "So  am  I!" 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there; 
For  why?  —  his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, . 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong; 
So  did  he  fly  —  which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  Calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  Calender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim. 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate, 

And  thus  accosted  him:  — 


178        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

*'What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell. 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall  — 
Say  why  bare-headed  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all?" 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke, 
And  thus  unto  the  Calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke:  — 

"I  came  because  your  horse  would  come; 

And,  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 

They  are  upon  the  road." 

The  Calender,  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Return'd  him  not  a  single  word, 

But  to  the  house  went  in; 

Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig; 

A  wig  that  fiow'd  behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear. 

Each  comely  In  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  In  his  turn 

Thus  show'd  his  ready  wit:  — 
*'My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 

They  therefore  needs  must  lit. 


Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin  179 

"But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 

That  hangs  upon  your  face; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 

Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John:  —  "It  is  my  wedding  day, , 
And  all  the  world  would  stare, 

If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 
And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So,  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said: 

"I  am  in  haste  to  dine; 
'T  was  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here, 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast! 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear; 
For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  gallop'd  off  with  all  his  might, 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig; 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 

For  why.^  —  they  were  too  big! 


i8o         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 

She  pull'd  out  half-a-crown; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said 
That  drove  them  to  the  Bell: 
"This  shall  be  yours  when  you  bring  back 
My  husband  safe  and  well." 

'    The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 
John  coming  back  amain; 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 
By  catching  at  his  rein; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant. 
And  gladly  would  have  done, 

The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more, 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  post-boy  at  his  heels!  — 

The  post-boy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 
The  lumb'ring  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road. 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scamp'ring  in  the  rear. 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry:  — 


The  White  Stag  l8l 

"Stop  thief!  stop  thief  —  a  highwayman!" 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute; 
And  all  and  each  that  pass'd  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space; 
The  toll-men  thinking,  as  before, 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too, 

For  he  got  first  to  town, 
Nor  stopp'd  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  Long  live  the  King! 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he! 
And,  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 

May  I  be  there  to  see! 

William  Cowper. 


THE  WHITE   STAG 

Into  the  woods  three  huntsmen  came. 
Seeking  the  white  stag  for  their  game. 

They  laid  them  under  a  green  fir-tree 

And  slept,  and  dreamed  strange  things  to  see. 


1 82   Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

{First  huntsman) 

"I  dreamt  I  was  beating  the  leafy  brush, 
When  out  popped   the   noble   stag  —  hush, 
hush!" 

{Second  huntsman) 
"As  ahead  of  the  clamorous  pack  he  sprang, 
I  pelted  him  hard  in  the  hide  —  piff,  bang!" 

{Third  huntsman) 

"And  as  that  stag  lay  dead  I  blew 
On  my  horn  a  lusty  tir-ril-la-loo!" 

So  speak,  the  three  as  there  they  lay, 
When  lo!  the  white  stag  sped  that  way, 
Frisked  his  heels  at  those  huntsmen  three, 
Then  leagues  o'er  hill  and  dale  was  he  — 
Hush,  hush!  Piff,  bang!   Tir-ril-la-loo! 

From  the  German  of  Ludzvig  Uhland. 
Translated  by  Eugene  Field. 


THE  YARN  OF  THE  NANCY  BELL 

'T  WAS  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast 

From  Deal  to  Ramsgate  span, 
That  I  found  alone  on  a  piece  of  stone 

An  elderly  naval  man. 


The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell     183 

His  hair  was  weedy,  his  beard  was  long, 

And  weedy  and  long  was  he, 
And  I  heard  this  wight  on  the  shore  recite. 

In  a  singular  minor  key: 

"Oh,  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  the  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

And  he  shook  his  fists  and  he  tore  his  hair, 

Till  I  really  felt  afraid, 
For  I  could  n't  help  thinking  the  man  had 
been  drinking. 

And  so  I  simply  said: 

"Oh,  elderly  man,  it's  little  I  know 
Of  the  duties  of  men  of  the  sea, 

And  I'll  eat  my  hand  if  I  understand 
However  you  can  be 

"At  once  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

Then  he  gave  a  hitch  to  his  trousers,  which 

Is  a  trick  all  seamen  larn, 
And  having  got  rid  of  a  thumping  quid, 

He  spun  this  painful  yarn: 


184        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"'T  was  In  the  good  ship  Nancy  Bell 
That  we  sailed  to  the  Indian  Sea, 

And  there  on  a  reef  we  came  to  grief,' 
Which  has  often  occurred  to  me. 

"And  pretty  nigh  all  the  crew  was  drowned 
(There  was  seventy-seven  o'  soul). 

And  only  ten  of  the  Nancy's  men 
Said  'Here!'  to  the  muster-roll. 

*'There  was  me  and  the  cook  and  the  captain 
bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"For  a  month  we'd  neither  wittles  nor  drink, 

Till  a-hungry  we  did  feel. 
So  we  draw'd  a  lot,  and,  accordin'  shot 

The  captain  for  our  meal. 

"The  next  lot  fell  to  the  Nancy's  mate 

And  a  delicate  dish  he  made; 
Then  our  appetite  with  the  midshipmite 

We  seven  survivors  stayed. 

"And  then  we  murdered  the  bo'sun  tight, 

And  he  much  resembled  pig; 
Then  we  wittled  free,  did  the  cook  and  me, 

On  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 


The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell     185 

"Then  only  the  cook  and  me  was  left, 
And  the  delicate  question,  'Which 

Of  us  goes  to  the  kettle?'  arose 
And  we  argued  it  out  as  sich._ 

"For  I  loved  that  cook  as  a  brother,  I  did, 
And  the  cook  he  worshipped  me; 

But  we'd  both  be  blowed  if  we'd  either  be 
stowed 
In  the  other  chap's  hold,  you  see. 

"'I'll  be  eat  if  you  dines  off  me,'  says  Tom; 

'Yes,  that,'  says  I,  'you'll  be  — 
I'm  boiled  if  I  die,  my  friend,'  quoth  I; 

And  'Exactly  so,'  quoth  he. 

"Says  he:  'Dear  James,  to  murder  me 

Were  a  foolish  thing  to  do. 
For  don't  you  see  that  you  can't  cook  mCj 

While  I  can  —  and  will  —  cook  you! ' 

"So  he  boils  the  water,  and  takes  the  salt 
And  the  pepper  in  portions  true 

(Which  he  never  forgot),  and  some  chopped 
shalot. 
And  some  sage  and  parsley  too. 

"'Come  here,'  says  he,  with  a  proper  pride 

Which  his  smiling  features  tell, 
*'T  will  soothing  be  if  I  let  you  see 

How  extremely  nice  you'll  smell.' 


1 86         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"And  he  stirred  it  round  and  round  and  round, 
And  he  sniffed  at  the  foaming  froth; 

When  I  ups  with  his  heels,  and  smothers  his 
squeals 
In  the  scum  of  the  boiling  broth. ' 

"And  I  eat  that  cook  in  a  week  or  less, 

And  —  as  I  eating  be 
The  last  of  his  chops,  why,  I  almost  drops, 

For  a  wessel  in  sight  I  see! 

"And  I  never  larf,  and  I  never  smile, 

And  I  never  lark  nor  play, 
But  sit  and  croak,  and  a  single  joke 

I  have  —  which  is  to  say: 

"Oh,  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig. 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig!" 

fF.  S.  Gilbert. 


FAITHLESS  NELLY  GRAY 

Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold, 
And  used  to  war's  alarms; 

But  a  cannon  ball  took  off  his  legs. 
So  he  laid  down  his  arms! 


Faithless  Nelly  Gray  187 

Now  as  they  bore  him  off  the  field. 

Said  he:  "Let  others  shoot, 
For  here  I  leave  my  second  leg, 

And  the  Forty-Second  Footl" 

The  army-surgeons  made  him  limbs: 
Said  he:  —  "They're  only  pegs; 

But  there's  as  wooden  members  quite 
As  represent  my  legs!" 

Now  Ben  he  loved  a  pretty  maid, 

Her  name  was  Nelly  Gray; 
So  he  went  to  pay  her  his  devours 

When  he'd  devoured  his  pay! 

But  when  he  called  on  Nelly  Gray, 

She  made  him  quite  a  scoff; 
And  when  she  saw  his  wooden  legs, 

Began  to  take  them  off! 

"O  Nelly  Gray!   O  Nelly  Gray! 

Is  this  your  love  so  warm? 
The  love  that  loves  a  scarlet  coat 

Should  be  more  uniform!" 

She  said:  "I  loved  a  soldier  once, 
For  he  was  blithe  and  brave; 

But  I  will  never  have  a  man 
With  both  legs  in  the  grave! 


i88        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"Before  you  had  those  timber  toes, 

Your  love  I  did  allow, 
But  then,  you  know,  you  stand  upon 

Another  footing  now!" 

"0  Nelly  Gray!  O  Nelly  Gray! 

For  all  your  jeering  speeches, 
At  duty's  call  I  left  my  legs 

In  Badajos's  breaches  /" 

"Why  then,"  said  she,  "you've  lost  the  feet 

Of  legs  in  war's  alarms, 
And  now  you  cannot  wear  your  shoes 

Upon  your  feats  of  arms!" 

"Oh,  false  and  fickle  Nelly  Gray, 

I  know  why  you  refuse:  — 
Though  I've  no  feet  —  some  other  man 

Is  standing  in  my  shoes! 

"I  wish  I  ne'er  had  seen  your  face; 

But  now  a  long  farewell! 
For  you  will  be  my  death;  —  alas! 

You  will  not  be  my  Nell  /" 

Now  when  he  went  from  Nelly  Gray, 

His  heart  so  heavy  got  — 
And  life  was  such  a  burthen  grown, 

It  made  him  take  a  knot! 


King  and  Miller  of  Mansfield     189 

So  round  his  melancholy  neck 

A  rope  he  did  entwine, 
And,  for  his  second  time  in  life, 

Enlisted  in  the  Line! 

One  end  he  tied  around  a  beam 

And  then  removed  his  pegs, 
And,  as  his  legs  were  off,  —  of  course 

He  soon  was  off  his  legs! 

And  there  he  hung  till  he  was  dead 

As  any  nail  in  town,  — 
For  though  distress  had  cut  him  up, 

It  could  not  cut  him  down! 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  his  corpse, 

To  find  out  why  he  died  — 
And  they  buried  Ben  in  four  cross-roads, 

With  a  stake  in  his  inside! 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  KING  AND  THE  MILLER  OF 
MANSFIELD 

Henry,  our  royal  king,  would  ride  a-hunting 

To  the  green  forest  so  pleasant  and  fair; 
To  see  the  harts  skipping,  and  dainty  does 
tripping, 


190        Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

Unto  merry  Sherwood  his  nobles  repair: 
Hawk  and  hound  were  unbound,  all  things 

prepar'd 
For  the  game,  in  the  same,  with  good  regard. 

All  a  long  summer's  day  rode  the  king  pleas- 
antly, 
With  all  his  princes  and  nobles  each  one; 
Chasing  the  hart  and  hind,  and  the  buck  gal- 
lantly. 
Till  the  dark  evening  forced  all  to  turn  home. 
Then  at  last,  riding  fast,  he  had  lost  quite 
All  his  lords  in  the  wood,  late  in  the  night. 

Wandering  thus  wearily,  all  alone,  up  and 
down, 
With  a  rude  miller  he  met  at  the  last; 
Asking  the  ready  way  unto  fair  Nottingham, 
"Sir,"  quoth  the  miller,  "I  mean  not  to 
jest. 
Yet  I  think,  what  I  think,  sooth  for  to  say; 
You  do  not  lightly  ride  out  of  your  way." 

"Why,  what  dost  thou  think  of  me,"  quoth 
our  king  merrily, 
"Passing  thy  judgment  upon  me  so  brief?" 
"Good  faith,"  said  the  miller,  "I  mean  not 
to  flatter  thee, 
I   guess   thee   to  be   but  some  gentleman 
thief; 


King  and  Miller  of  Mansfield     191 

Stand   thee   back,    in   the   dark;    light    not 

a  down, 
Lest   that   I   presently   crack   thy   knave's 

crown." 

"Thou  dost  abuse  me  much,"  quoth  the  king, 
"saying  thus; 
I  am  a  gentleman;  lodging  I  lack." 
"Thou  hast  not,"  quoth  th'  miller,  "one  groat 
in  thy  purse; 
All  thy  inheritance  hangs  on  thy  back." 
*'I  have  gold  to  discharge  all  that  I  call; 
If  it  be  forty  pence,  I  will  pay  all." 

"If  thou  beest  a  true  man,"  then  quoth  the 

miller, 
"I  swear  by  my  toll-dish,  I'll  lodge  thee  all 

night." 
"Here's  my  hand,"  quoth   the  king,  "that 

was  I  ever." 
"  Nay,  soft,"  quoth  the  miller,  "thou  may'st 

be  a  sprite. 
Better  I  '11  know  thee,  ere  hands  we  will  shake; 
With  none  but  honest  men  hands  will  I  take.'* 

Thus  they  went  all  along  unto  the  miller's 
house. 
Where  they  were  seething  of  puddings  and 
souse; 


192    Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

The  miller  first  enter'd  In,  after  him  went  the 

king; 
Never  came  he  in  see  smoky  a  house. 
"Now,"  quoth  he,  "let  me  see  here  what  you 

are." 
Quoth  our  king,  "Look  your  fill,  and  do  not 

spare." 

"I  like  well  thy  countenance,  thou  hast  an 
honest  face: 
With  my  son  Richard  this  night  thou  shalt 
lie." 
Quoth  his  wife,  "By  my  troth,  it  is  a  hand- 
some youth. 
Yet  it's  best,  husband,  to  deal  warily. 
Art  thou  no  run-away,  prythee,  youth,  tell? 
Show  me  thy  passport,  and  all  shall  be  well." 

Then  our  king  presently,  making  low  cour- 
tesy, 

With  his  hat  in  his  hand,  thus  he  did  say; 
"I  have  no  passport,  nor  never  was  servitor, 

But  a  poor  courtier  rode  out  of  my  way: 
And  for  your  kindness  here  offered  to  me, 
I  will  requite  you  in  every  degree." 

Then  to  the  miller  his  wife  whisper'd  secretly. 
Saying:  "It  seemeth,  this  youth's  of  good 
kin, 


King  and  Miller  of  Mansfield    193 

Both  by  his  apparel,  and  eke  by  his  manners; 
To  turn  him  out,  certainly  were  a  great 

sin." 
"Yea,"  quoth  he,  "you  may  see  he  hath  some 

grace, 
When  he  doth  speak  to  his  betters  in  place." 

"Well,"  quo'  the  miller's  wife,  "young  man, 

ye  're  welcome  here; 
And,  though   I  say  it,  well   lodged   shall 

be: 
Fresh  straw  will  I  have,  laid  on  thy  bed  so 

brave. 
And  good  brown  hempen  sheets  likewise," 

quoth  she. 
"Aye,"  quoth    the    good    man;  "and  when 

that  is  done, 
Thou  shalt  lie  with  no  worse  than  our  own 

son. 

This  caused  the  king,  suddenly,  to  laugh  most 
heartily, 
Till  the  tears  trickled  fast  down  from  his 
eyes. 
Then  to  their  supper  were  they  set  orderly, 
With  hot  bag-puddings,  and  good  apple- 
pies; 
Nappy  ale,  good  and  stale,  in  a  brown  bowl, 
Which  did  about  the  board  merrily  troll. 


194         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"Here,"  quoth  the  miller,  "good  fellow,  I 

drink  to  thee." 
"I    pledge    thee,"    quoth    our    king,    "and 

thank  thee  heartily 
For  my  good  welcome  in  every  degree: 
And  here,  in  like  manner,  I  drink  to  thy  son." 
"Do  then,"  quoth  Richard,  "and  quicke  let 

it  come." 

"Wife,"  quoth    the  miller,  "fetch  me  forth 
lightfoot. 
And  of  his  sweetness  a  little  we'll  taste." 

A  fair  ven'son  pasty  brought  she  out  pres- 
ently, 
"Eat,"  quoth  the  miller,  "but,  sir,  make  no 
waste. 

Here's  dainty  lightfoot!"  "In  faith,"  said  the 
king, 

"I  never  before  eat  so  dainty  a  thing." 

"I  wis,"  quoth   Richard,  "no   dainty   at   all 
it  is. 
For  we  do  eate  of  it  every  day." 
"In  what  place,"    said  our   king,   "may  be 
bought  like  to  this?" 
"We  never  pay  penny  for  it,  by  my  fay: 
From  merry  Sherwood  we  fetch  it  home  here; 
Now  and  then  we  make  bold  with  our  king's 
deer." 


King  and  Miller  of  Mansfield     195 

"Then  I  think,"  said  our  king,  "that  it   is 
venison." 
*'Each   fool,"   quoth   Richard,   "full   well 
may  know  that: 
Never  are  we  without  two  or  three  in  the  roof, 

Very  well  fleshed,  and  excellent  fat: 
But,  prythee,  say  nothing  wherever  thou  go; 
We  would  not,  for  twopence,  the  king  should 
it  know." 

"Doubt  not,"  then  said  the  king,  "my  prom- 
ised secresy; 
The  king  shall  never  know  more  on 't  for 
me." 

A  cup  of  lamb's-wooP  they  drank  unto  him 
then. 
And  to  their  beds  they  past  presently. 

The  nobles,  next  morning,  went  all  up  and 
down, 

For  to  seek  out  the  king  in  every  town. 

At  last  at  the  miller's  "cot"  soone  they  espied 
him  out. 
As  he  was  mounting  upon  his  fair  steed; 
To  whom  they  came  presently,  falling  down 
on  their  knee; 
Which  made  the  miller's  heart  wofully  bleed ; 

^  Ale  and  roasted  apples. 


196         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

Shaking  and  quaking,  before  him  he  stood, 
Thinking  he  should  have  been  hanged,  by  the 
rood. 


The  king,  perceiving  him  fearfully  trembling, 
Drew  forth  his  sword,  but  nothing  he  said; 
The  miller  down  did  fall,  crying  before  them 
all. 
Doubting  the  king  would  have  cut  off  his 
head. 
But  he  his  kind  courtesy  for  to  requite, 
Gave  him  great  living,   and  dubbed  him  a 
knight. 

(Condensed.)   Old  Ballad. 


KING  JOHN  AND  THE  ABBOT  OF 
CANTERBURY 

An  ancient  story  I'll  tell  you  anon 

Of  a  notable  prince,   that  was  called  King 

John; 
And  he  ruled  England  with  main  and  with 

might. 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  maintained  little 

right. 

And  I'll  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merry, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury; 


King  John  and  the  Abbot        197 

How  for  his  housekeeping,  and  high  renown, 
They  rode  post  for  him  to  fair  London  town. 

An  hundred  men,  the  King  did  hear  say, 
The  Abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day; 
And  fifty  gold  chains,  without  any  doubt, 
In  velvet  coats  waited  the  Abbot  about. 

"How  now,  Father  Abbot,  I  hear  it  of  thee, 
Thou  keepest  a  far  better  house  than  me; 
And  for  thy  housekeeping  and  high  renown, 
I    fear    thou    work'st     treason    against    my 
crown." 

"My  liege,"  quo'  the  Abbot,  "I  would  it  were 

knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne; 
And  I  trust  your  Grace  will  do  me  no  deere,^ 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  gear." 

"Yes,  yes,  Father  Abbot,  thy  fault  it  is  highe, 
And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye; 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions 

three. 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 

"And  first,"  quo'  the  King,  "when  I'm   in 

this  stead. 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head- 

^  Deere  =  hurt,  mischief. 


198         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe, 
Thou  must  tell  to  one  penny   what    I    am 
worthe. 

*'  Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How   soone    I   may    ride    the    whole    world 

about, 
And  at  the  third  question  thou   must  not 

shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think." 

"Oh,  these  are  hard  questions  for  my  shallow 

witt, 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  Grace  as  yet; 
But  if  you  will   give   me   but  three  weekes 

space, 
I'll  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  Grace." 

"Now  three  weeks'  space  to  thee  will  I  give, 
And  that  is   the   longest  time  thou  hast  to 

live; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions 

three. 
Thy  lands  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  me." 

Away  rode  the  Abbot  all  sad  at  that  word, 
And  he  rode  to  Cambridge,  and  Oxenford; 
But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise. 
That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise. 


King  John  and  the  Abbot         199 

Then  home  rode  the  Abbot  of  comfort  so  cold, 
And  he  met  his  Shepherd  a-going  to  fold: 
"How  now,  my  Lord  Abbot,  you  are  welcome 

home; 
What  news  do  you  bring  us  from  good  King 

John?" 

"Sad  news,  sad  news.  Shepherd,  I  must  give, 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live; 
For  if  I  do  not  answer  him  questions  three. 
My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

''The  first  is  to  tell  him,  there  in  that  stead, 
With  his  crown  of  gold  so  fair  on  his  head, 
Among  all  his  liege  men  so  noble  of  birth, 
To  within  one  penny  of  all  what  he  is  worth. 

"The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt. 
How   soone   he   may  ride  this  whole  world 

about: 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke, 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke." 

"Now  cheare  up,  Sire  Abbot,  did  you  never 

hear  yet, 
That  a  fool  he  may  learne  a  wise  man  witt? 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving  men,  and  your 

apparel. 
And  I'll   ride  to    London   to   answere  your 

quarrel. 


200    Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto 

mee, 
I  am  like  your  Lordship,  as  ever  may  bee: 
And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne, 
There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  at  fair  London 

towne." 

"Now  horses,  and  serving  men  thou  shalt 

have, 
With    sumptuous    array    meet    gallant    and 

brave; 
With  crozier,  and  mitre,  and  rochet,  and  cope. 
Fit  to  appear  'fore  our  Father  the  Pope." 

"Now  welcome.  Sire  Abbot,"  the  king  he  did 

say, 
"'T  is  well  thou  'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy 

day; 
For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions 

three, 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

"And  first,  when  thou  seest  me,  here  in  this 

stead, 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head. 
Among  all  my  liege  men  so  noble  of  birthe,  ^ 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth." 

"For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 
Among  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told: 


King  John  and  the  Abbot        201 

And  twenty-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee. 
For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than 
he." 

The  King  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Bittel, 
"I  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  Httle! 
Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soon  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about." 

"You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with 

the  same. 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  again; 
And  then  your  Grace  need  not  make  any 

doubt, 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you  '11  ride  it  about." 

The  King  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 
"I  did  not  think  it  could  be  gone  so  soon. 
Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not 

shrink. 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  do  I  think." 

"Yea,  that  I  shall  do,  and  make  your  Grace 

merry; 
You  think  I'm  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury; 
But  I'm  his  poor  shepherd,  as  plain  you  may 

see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for 

me. 


202  Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

The  King  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  mas€, 
"I'll  make  thee  Lord  Abbot  this  day  in  his 

place!" 
"Now,  nay,  my  Liege,  be  not  in  such  speed, 
For  alack,  I  can  neither  write  nor  read." 

"Four  nobles  a  week,  then,  I  will  give  thee, 
For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  shown  unto  me; 
And  tell  the  old  Abbot,  when  thou  comest 

home, 
Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good 
King  John." 
From  Percy'' s  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry. 


THE  WELL  OF   ST.  KEYNE 

A  WELL  there  is  in  the  west  country, 
And  a  clearer  one  never  was  seen; 

There  is  not  a  wife  in  the  west  country 
But  has  heard  of  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne, 

An  oak  and  an  elm  tree  stand  beside, 
And  behind  doth  an  ash  tree  grow, 

And  a  willow  from  the  bank  above 
Droops  to  the  water  below. 

A  traveller  came  to  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne; 
Joyfully  he  drew  nigh, 


The  Well  of  St.  Keyne         203 

For  from  cock-crow  he  had  been  travelling. 
And  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

He  drank  of  the  water  so  cool  and  clear, 

For  thirsty  and  hot  was  he, 
And  he  sat  down  upon  the  bank 

Under  the  willow  tree. 

There  came  a  man  from  the  house  hard  by 

At  the  Well  to  fill  his  pail; 
On  the  Well-side  he  rested  it, 

And  he  bade  the  Stranger  hail. 

"Now  art  thou  a  bachelor,  Stranger?"  quoth 
he, 

"  For  an'  if  thou  hast  a  wife. 
The  happiest  draught  thou  hast  drank  this  day 

That  ever  thou  didst  in  thy  life. 

**0r  has  thy  good  woman,  if  one  thou  hast, 

Ever  here  in  Cornwall  been? 
For  an'  if  she  have,  I'll  venture  my  life 

She  has  drank  of  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne.'* 

"I  have  left  a  good  woman  who  never  was 
here," 
The  Stranger  he  made  reply, 
"But  that  my  draught  should  be  the  better 
for  that, 
I  pray  you  answer  me  why?" 


204         Jolly  Rhymes  and  Poems 

"St.  Keyne,"  quoth  the  Cornish-man,  "many 
a  time 

Drank  of  this  crystal  Well, 
And  before  the  Angel  summon'd  her, 

She  laid  on  the  water  a  spell. 

"If  the  Husband  of  this  gifted  Well 

Shall  drink  before  his  Wife, 
A  happy  man  thenceforth  is  he, 

For  he  shall  be  Master  for  life. 

"But  if  the  Wife  should  drink  of  it  first, 

God  help  the  Husband  then!" 
The  Stranger  stoopt  to  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne, 

And  drank  of  the  water  again. 

"You  drank  of  the  Well  I  warrant  betimes?" 

He  to  the  Cornish-man  said: 
But  the  Cornish-man  smiled  as  the  Stranger 
spake, 

And  sheepishly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  hasten'd  as  soon  as  the  wedding  was  done. 
And  left  my  Wife  in  the  porch ; 

But  i'  faith  she  had  been  wiser  than  me. 
For  she  took  a  bottle  to  Church." 

Robert  Southey, 


SAD   POEMS 


THE   BABES   IN  THE  WOOD 

Now  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear, 

These  words  which  I  shall  write; 
A  doleful  story  you  shall  hear, 

In  time  brought  forth  to  light. 
A  gentleman  of  good  account 

In  Norfolk  dwelt  of  late. 
Who  did  in  honour  far  surmount 

Most  men  of  his  estate. 

Sore  sick  he  was,  and  like  to  die, 

No  help  his  life  could  save; 
His  wife  by  him  as  sick  did  lie, 

And  both  possessed  one  grave. 
No  love  between  these  two  was  lost, 

Each  was  to  other  kind; 
In  love  they  lived,  in  love  they  died. 

And  left  two  babes  behind. 

The  one  a  fine  and  pretty  boy, 
Not  passing  three  years  old; 

The  other  a  girl  more  young  than  he, 
And  framed  in  beauty's  mould. 

The  father  left  his  little  son, 
As  plainly  doth  appear, 


2o8  Sad  Poems 

When  he  to  perfect  age  should  come, 
Three  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

And  to  his  little  daughter  Jane 

Five  hundred  pounds  in  gold, 
To  be  paid  down  on  marriage-day, 

Which  might  not  be  controlled: 
But  if  the  children  chance  to  die, 

Ere  they  to  age  should  come, 
Their  uncle  should  possess  their  wealth; 

For  so  the  will  did  run. 

"Now,  brother,"  said  the  dying  man, 
"Look  to  my  children  dear; 
Be  good  unto  my  boy  and  girl. 

No  friends  else  have  they  here: 
To  God  and  you  I  recommend 

My  children  dear  this  day; 
But  little  while  be  sure  we  have 
Within  this  world  to  stay. 

*'You  must  be  father  and  mother  both, 
And  uncle  all  in  one; 
God  knows  what  will  become  of  them 

When  I  am  dead  and  gone." 
With  that  bespake  their  mother  dear, 
"O  brother  kind,"  quoth  she, 
"You  are  the  man  must  bring  our  babes 
To  wealth  or  misery: 


The  Babes  in  the  Wood  209 

**And  if  70U  keep  them  carefully, 
Then  God  will  you  reward; 
But  if  you  otherwise  should  deal, 

God  will  your  deeds  regard." 
With  lips  as  cold  as  any  stone, 
They  kissed  their  children  small: 
"God  bless  you  both,  my  children  dear!" 
With  that  the  tears  did  fall. 

These  speeches  then  their  brother  spoke 

To  this  sick  couple  there: 
"The  keeping  of  your  little  ones, 

Sweet  sister,  do  not  fear: 
God  never  prosper  me  nor  mine, 

Nor  aught  else  that  I  have, 
If  I  do  wrong  your  children  dear. 

When  you  are  laid  in  grave." 

The  parents  being  dead  and  gone, 

The  children  home  he  takes, 
And  brings  them  straight  unto  his  house, 

Where  much  of  them  he  makes. 
He  had  not  kept  these  pretty  babes 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
But,  for  their  wealth,  he  did  devise 

To  make  them  both  away. 

He  bargained  with  two  ruffians  strong, 
Which  were  of  furious  mood, 


2IO  Sad  Poems 

That  they  should  take  these  children  young, 

And  slay  them  in  a  wood. 
He  told  his  wife  an  artful  tale, 

He  would  the  children  send, 
To  be  brought  up  in  fair  London, 

With  one  that  was  his  friend. 

Away  then  went  those  pretty  babes, 

Rejoicing  at  that  tide, 
Rejoicing  with  a  merry  mind, 

They  should  on  cock-horse  ride. 
They  prate  and  prattle  pleasantly, 

As  they  rode  on  the  way, 
To  those  that  should  their  butchers  be. 

And  work  their  lives'  decay. 

So  that  the  pretty  speech  they  had, 

Made  Murder's  heart  relent; 
And  they  that  undertook  the  deed. 

Full  sore  did  now  repent. 
Yet  one  of  them  more  hard  of  heart. 

Did  vow  to  do  his  charge, 
Because  the  wretch,  that  hired  him, 

Had  paid  him  very  large. 

The  other  won't  agree  thereto, 

So  here  they  fall  to  strife; 
With  one  another  they  did  fight 

About  the  children's  life; 


The  Babes  in  the  Wood         211 

And  he  that  was  of  mildest  mood, 

Did  slay  the  other  there, 
Within  an  unfrequented  wood; 

The  babes  did  quake  for  fear! 

He  took  the  children  by  the  hand, 

Tears  standing  in  their  eye, 
And  bade  them  straightway  follow  him, 

And  look  they  did  not  cry. 
And  two  long  miles  he  led  them  on, 

While  they  for  food  complain; 
"Stay  here,"  quoth  he,  "I'll  bring  you  bread, 

When  I  come  back  again." 

These  pretty  babes,  with  hand  in  hand. 

Went  wandering  up  and  down; 
But  never  more  could  see  the  man 

Approaching  from  the  town: 
Their  pretty  lips  with  blackberries. 

Were  all  besmeared  and  dyed, 
And  when  they  saw  the  darksome  night, 

They  sat  them  down  and  cried. 

Thus  wandered  these  poor  innocents, 

Till  death  did  end  their  grief; 
In  one  another's  arms  they  died. 

As  wanting  due  relief: 
No  burial  this  pretty  pair 

Of  any  man  receives. 


212  Sad  Poems 

Till  Robin  Redbreast  piously 
Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 

And  now  the  heavy  wrath  of  God 

Upon  their  uncle  fell; 
Yea,  fearful  fiends  did  haunt  his  house, 

His  conscience  felt  an  hell: 
His  barns  were  fired,  his  goods  consumed. 

His  lands  were  barren  made. 
His  cattle  died  within  the  field, 

And  nothing  with  him  stayed. 

And  in  a  voyage  to  Portugal 

Two  of  his  sons  did  die; 
And  to  conclude,  himself  was  brought 

To  want  and  misery: 
He  pawned  and  mortgaged  all  his  land 

Ere  seven  years  came  about; 
And  now  at  length  this  wicked  act 

Did  by  this  means  come  out: 

The  fellow  that  did  take  in  hand 

These  children  for  to  kill, 
Was  for  a  robbery  judged  to  die, 

Such  was  God's  blessed  will; 
So  did  confess  the  very  truth, 

As  here  hath  been  displayed; 
Their  uncle  having  died  in  gaol, 

Where  he  for  debt  was  laid. 


The  Parrot  213 

You  that  executors  be  made, 

And  overseers  eke 
Of  children  that  be  fatherless, 

And  infants  mild  and  meek; 
Take  you  example  by  this  thing, 

And  yield  to  each  his  right, 
Lest  God  with  such  like  misery 

Your  wicked  minds  requite. 
From  Percy's  Reliques  oj  Ancient  English  Poetry. 


THE   PARROT 

A  PARROT,  from  the  Spanish  Main, 

Full  young,  and  early  caged,  came  o'er. 

With  bright  wings,  to  the  bleak  domain 
Of  Mulla's  shore. 

To  spicy  groves  where  he  had  won 
His  plumage  of  resplendent  hue, 

His  native  fruits,  and  skies,  and  sun, 
He  bade  adieu. 

For  these  he  changed  the  smoke  of  turf, 
A  heathery  land  and  misty  sky. 

And  turned  on  rocks  and  raging  surf 
His  golden  eye. 

But,  petted,  in  our  climate  cold 

He  lived  and  chattered  many  a  day: 


214  Sad  Poems 

Until  with  age,  from  green  and  gold 
His  wings  grew  gray. 

At  last,  when  blind  and  seeming  dumb, 
He  scolded,  laugh'd,  and  spoke  no  more, 

A  Spanish  stranger  chanced  to  come 
To  Mulla's  shore. 

He  hailed  the  bird  in  Spanish  speech. 
The  bird  in  Spanish  speech  replied; 

Flapped  round  his  cage  with  joyous  screech, 
Dropt  down,  and  died. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


BETH-GELERT;  OR,  THE  GRAVE  OF 
THE  GREYHOUND 

The  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound, 
And  cheerily  smiled  the  morn, 

And  many  a  brach  and  many  a  hound 
Obeyed  Llewelyn's  horn. 

And  still  he  blew  a  louder  blast, 

And  gave  a  lustier  cheer: 
*'Come,  Gelert,  come;  wert  never  last 

Llewelyn's  horn  to  hear. 

"Oh!  where  does  faithful  Gelert  roam, 
The  flower  of  all  his  race? 


Beth-Gelert  215 

So  true,  so  brave;  a  lamb  at  home, 
A  lion  in  the  chase!" 

'T  was  only  at  Llewelyn's  board 

The  faithful  Gelert  fed; 
He  watched,  he  served,  he  cheered  his  lord 

And  sentinelled  his  bed. 

In  sooth,  he  was  a  peerless  hound. 

The  gift  of  royal  John; 
But  now  no  Gelert  could  be  found, 

And  all  the  chase  rode  on. 

And  now,  as  o'er  the  rocks  and  dells 

The  gallant  chidings  rise. 
All  Snowdon's  craggy  chaos  yells 

The  many-mingled  cries! 

That  day  Llewelyn  little  loved 

The  chase  of  hart  or  hare, 
And  scant  and  small  the  booty  proved 

For  Gelert  was  not  there. 

Unpleased,  Llewelyn  homeward  hied: 

When  near  the  portal  seat. 
His  truant  Gelert  he  espied 

Bounding  his  lord  to  greet. 

But  when  he  gained  his  castle-door, 
Aghast  the  chieftain  stood: 


2i6  Sad  Poems 

The  hound  all  o'er  was  smeared  with  gore, 
His  lips,  his  fangs,  ran  blood. 

Llewelyn  gazed  with  fierce  surprise: 

Unused  such  looks  to  meet, 
His  favorite  checked  his  joyful  guise, 

And  crouched  and  licked  his  feet. 

Onward  in  haste  Llewelyn  passed, 

And  on  went  Gelert  too, 
And  still,  where'er  his  eyes  he  cast, 

Fresh  blood-gouts  shocked  his  view. 

O'erturned  his  infant's  bed  he  found, 
With  blood-stained  covert  rent, 

And  all  around  the  walls  and  ground 
With  recent  blood  besprent. 

He  called  his  child,  no  voice  replied; 

He  searched  with  terror  wild; 
Blood,  blood,  he  found  on  every  side; 

But  nowhere  found  his  child. 

"Hell-hound!  by  thee  my  child  's  devoured!** 

The  frantic  father  cried ; 
And  to  the  hilt  his  vengeful  sword 

He  plunged  in  Gelert's  side. 

His  suppliant  looks  as  prone  he  fell 
No  pity  could  impart, 


Beth-Gelert  217 

But  still  his  Gelert's  dying  yell 
Passed  heavy  o'er  his  heart. 

Aroused  by  Gelert's  dying  yell, 
Some  slumberer  wakened  nigh: 

What  words  the  parent's  joy  could  tell 
To  hear  his  infant's  cry! 

Concealed  beneath  a  tumbled  heap 
His  hurried  search  had  missed, 

All  glowing  from  his  rosy  sleep. 
The  cherub  boy  he  kissed. 

Nor  scath  had  he,  nor  harm,  nor  dread; 

But  the  same  couch  beneath 
Lay  a  gaunt  wolf,  all  torn  and  dead, 

Tremendous  still  in  death. 

Ah,  what  was  then  Llewelyn's  pain! 

For  now  the  truth  was  clear; 
The  gallant  hound  the  wolf  had  slain, 

To  save  Llewelyn's  heir. 

Vain,  vain  was  all  Llewelyn's  woe: 
"Best  of  thy  kind,  adieu! 
The  frantic  blow  which  laid  thee  low 
This  heart  shall  ever  rue." 

And  now  a  gallant  tomb  they  raise. 
With  costly  sculpture  deckt; 


2i8  Sad  Poems 

And  marbles,  storied  with  his  praise, 
Poor  Gelert's  bones  protect. 

There  never  could  the  spearman  pass, 

Or  forester,  unmoved ; 
There  oft  the  tear-besprinkled  grass 

Llewelyn's  sorrow  proved. 

And  there  he  hung  his  sword  and  spear, 

And  there,  as  evening  fell. 
In  Fancy's  ear  he  oft  would  hear 

Poor  Gelert's  dying  yell. 

And  till  great  Snowdon's  rocks  grow  old, 
And  cease  the  storm  to  brave, 

The  consecrated  spot  shall  hold 
The  name  of  "Gelert's  Grave." 

William  Robert  S-pencsf, 

THE  CAPTAIN'S   DAUGHTER 

We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin. 
Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep,  — 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters. 
And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 

'T  is  a  fearful  thing  in  winter 
To  be  shattered  by  the  blast, 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 
Thunder,  "Cut  away  the  mast!" 


Alec  Yeaton's  Son  219 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence,  — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring. 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  Death. 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 

Each  one  busy  with  his  prayers, 

*'We  are  lost!"  the  captain  shouted, 

As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered. 
As  she  took  his  icy  hand: 
"  Is  n't  God  upon  the  ocean. 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land?" 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 
And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 

And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 
When  the  morn  was  shining  clear. 

James  Thomas  Fields^ 


ALEC  YEATON'S   SON 

Gloucester,  August,  1720. 

The  wind  it  wailed,  the  wind  it  moaned, 
And  the  white  caps  flecked  the  sea; 

^*An'  I  would  to  God,"  the  skipper  groaned, 
"I  had  not  my  boy  with  me!" 


220  Sad  Poems 

Snug  in  the  stern-sheets,  little  John 
Laughed  as  the  scud  swept  by; 

But  the  skipper's  sunburnt  cheek  grew  wan 
As  he  watched  the  wicked  sky. 

"Would  he  were  at  his  mother's  side!'* 
And  the  skipper's  eyes  were  dim, 

"Good  Lord  in  heaven,  if  ill  betide, 
What  would  become  of  him ! 

"For  me,  my  muscles  are  as  steel, 

For  me  let  hap  what  may; 
I  might  make  shift  upon  the  keel 

Until  the  break  o'  day. 

"But  he,  he  is  so  weak  and  small, 
So  young,  scarce  learned  to  stand,  — 

O  pitying  Father  of  us  all, 
I  trust  him  in  Thy  hand! 

"For  Thou,  who  markest  from  on  high 
A  sparrow's  fall,  —  each  one!  — 

Surely,  O  Lord,  Thou  'It  have  an  eye 
On  Alec  Yeaton's  son!" 

Then,  steady  helm!   Right  straight  he  sailed 

Towards  the  headland  light: 
The  wind  it  moaned,  the  wind  it  wailed, 

And  black,  black  fell  the  night. 


Alec  Yeaton's  Son  221 

Then  burst  a  storm  to  make  one  quail 
Though  housed  from  winds  and  waves,  — 

They  who  could  tell  about  that  gale 
Must  rise  from  watery  graves! 

Sudden  it  came,  as  sudden  went; 

Ere  half  the  night  was  sped, 
The  winds  were  hushed,  the  waves  were 
spent, 

And  the  stars  shone  overhead. 

Now,  as  the  morning  mist  grew  thin, 

The  folk  on  Gloucester  shore 
Saw  a  little  figure  floating  in, 

Secure,  on  a  broken  oar! 

Up  rose  the  cry:  "A  wreck!  a  wreck! 

Pull,  mates,  and  waste  no  breath!" 
They  knew  it,  though  't  was  but  a  speck 

Upon  the  edge  of  death ! 

Long  did  they  marvel  in  the  town 

At  God  His  strange  decree, 
That  let  the  stalwart  skipper  drown, 

And  the  little  child  go  free! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich, 


222  Sad  Poems 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor, 
Had  sailed  to  the  Spanish  Main, 

"I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port. 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring. 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see!" 

The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiflf  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 
A  gale  from  the  Northeast; 


HE  WRAPPED  HER  WARM  IN  HIS   SEAMAN  S  COAT 


The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus     223 

The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 
And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted 
steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"Come    hither!    come     hither!     my    little 
daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

*'0  father!  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
*"T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast!" 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"O  father!  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
"Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

Tn  such  an  angry  sea!" 


224  Sad  Poems 

"O  father!  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming 
snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then    the   maiden   clasped    her   hands    and 
prayed 
That  saved  she  might  be; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the 
wave 
On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through    the  midnight   dark    and 
drear, 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost  the  vessel  swept 

Tow'rds  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 


The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus     225 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows. 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  Icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  In  Ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho!  ho!  the  breakers  roared! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast. 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  In  her  eyes; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


226  Sad  Poems 

LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER 

A  Chieftain,  to  the  Highlands  bound. 
Cries:  "Boatman,  do  not  tarry! 

And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound, 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry!"  — 

"Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water?" 

"Oh,  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this.  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

**And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we've  fled  together, 
For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

**HIs  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  — 
Should  they  our  steps  discover. 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride, 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover?" 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight: 
"I'll  go,  my  chief,  —  I'm  ready: 

It  Is  not  for  your  silver  bright. 
But  for  your  winsome  lady:  — 

**And  by  my  word!  the  bonny  bird 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry; 


Lord  Ullin's  Daughter  227 

So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still,  as  wilder  blew  the  wind. 

And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 

Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"O  haste  thee,  haste!"  the  lady  cries, 
"Though  tempests  round  us  gather; 

I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies. 
But  not  an  angry  father!" 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her,  — 
When,  oh!  too  strong  for  human  hand. 

The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing; 
Lord  Ullin  reach'd  that  fatal  shore; 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade 
His  child  he  did  discover; 


228  Sad  Poems 

One  lovely  hand  she  stretch'd  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"Come  back!  come  back!"  he  cried  in  grief, 

"Across  this  stormy  water: 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter!  —  O  my  daughter!" 

'T  was  vain:  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing: 
The  water  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


HISTORICAL  LEGENDS  AND  STORIES 
(the  CONTINENT,  ENGLAND,  AND 
THE   UNITED   STATES) 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE 

A  Story  of  Holland 

The  good  dame  looked  from  her  cottage 

At  the  close  of  the  pleasant  day, 
And  cheerily  called  to  her  little  son 

Outside  the  door  at  play: 
"Come,  Peter,  come!  I  want  you  to  go, 

While  there  is  light  to  see. 
To  the  hut  of  the  blind  old  man  who  lives 

Across  the  dike,  for  me. 
And  take  these  cakes  I  made  for  him  — 

They  are  hot  and  smoking  yet; 
You  have  time  enough  to  go  and  come 

Before  the  sun  is  set." 

Then  the  good-wife  turned  to  her  labor, 

Humming  a  simple  song, 
And  thought  of  her  husband,  working  hard 

At  the  sluices  all  day  long; 
And  set  the  turf  a-blazing, 

And  brought  the  coarse  black  bread; 
That  he  might  find  a  fire  at  night. 

And  find  the  table  spread. 


232    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

And  Peter  left  the  brother 

With  whom  all  day  he  had  played, 
And  the  sister  who  had  watched  their  sports 

In  the  willow's  tender  shade; 
And  now,  with  his  face  all  glowing, 

And  eyes  as  bright  as  the  day 
With  the  thoughts  of  his  pleasant  errand, 

He  trudged  along  the  way; 
And  soon  his  joyous  prattle 

Made  glad  a  lonesome  place. 
Alas!  if  only  the  blind  old  man 

Could  have  seen  that  happy  face! 
Yet  he  somehow  caught  the  brightness 

Which  his  voice  and  presence  lent; 
And  he  felt  the  sunshine  come  and  go 

As  Peter  came  and  went. 

And  now,  as  the  day  was  sinking. 

And  the  winds  began  to  rise. 
The  mother  looked  from  her  door  again, 

Shading  her  anxious  eyes; 
And  saw  the  shadows  deepen 

And  birds  to  their  homes  come  back. 
But  never  a  sign  of  Peter 

Along  the  level  track. 
But  she  said:  "He  will  come  at  morning, 

So  I  need  not  fret  or  grieve  — 
Though  it  is  n't  like  my  boy  at  all 

To  stay  without  my  leave." 


The  Leak  in  the  Dike  233 

But  where  way  the  child  delaying? 

On  the  homeward  way  was  he, 
And  across  the  dike  while  the  sun  was  up 

An  hour  above  the  sea. 
He  was  stopping  now  to  gather  flowers, 

Now  listening  to  the  sound, 
As  the  angry  waters  dashed  themselves 

Against  their  narrow  bound. 
"Ah!  well  for  us,"  said  Peter, 

"That  the  gates  are  good  and  strong, 
And  my  father  tends  them  carefully, 

Or  they  would  not  hold  you  long! 
You're  a  wicked  sea,"  said  Peter; 

"I  know  why  you  fret  and  chafe; 
You  would  like  to  spoil  our  lands  and  homes; 

But  our  sluices  keep  you  safe!" 

But  hark!  Through  the  noise  of  waters 

Comes  a  low,  clear,  trickling  sound; 
And  the  child's  face  pales  with  terror, 

And  his  blossoms  drop  to  the  ground. 
He  is  up  the  bank  in  a  moment, 

And,  stealing  through  the  sand, 
He  sees  a  stream  not  yet  so  large 

As  his  slender,  childish  hand. 
*T  is  a  leak  in  the  dike  !  He  is  but  a  boy. 

Unused  to  fearful  scenes; 
But,  young  as  he  is,  he  has  learned  to  know. 

The  dreadful  thing  that  means. 


234   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

A  leak  in  the  dike  !  The  stoutest  heart 

Grows  faint  that  cry  to  hear, 
And  the  bravest  man  in  all  the  land 

Turns  white  with  mortal  fear. 
For  he  knows  the  smallest  leak  may  grow 

To  a  flood  in  a  single  night; 
And  he  knows  the  strength  of  the  cruel  sea 

When  loosed  in  its  angry  might. 

And  the  boy!   He  has  seen  the  danger, 

And,  shouting  a  wild  alarm, 
He  forces  back  the  weight  of  the  sea 

With  the  strength  of  his  single  arm! 
He  listens  for  the  joyful  sound 

Of  a  footstep  passing  nigh; 
And  lays  his  ear  to  the  ground,  to  catch 

The  answer  to  his  cry. 
And  he  hears  the  rough  winds  blowing, 

And  the  waters  rise  and  fall. 
But  never  an  answer  comes  to  him, 

Save  the  echo  of  his  call. 
He  sees  no  hope,  no  succor, 

His  feeble  voice  is  lost; 
Yet  what  shall  he  do  but  watch  and  wait, 

Though  he  perish  at  his  post! 

So,  faintly  calling  and  crying 
Till  the  sun  is  under  the  sea; 


The  Leak  in  the  Dike  235 

Crying  and  moaning  till  the  stars 

Come  out  for  company; 
He  thinks  of  his  brother  and  sister, 

Asleep  in  their  safe  warm  bed; 
He  thinks  of  his  father  and  mother, 

Of  himself  as  dying  —  and  dead; 
And  of  how,  when  the  night  is  over, 

They  must  come  and  find  him  at  last: 
But  he  never  thinks  he  can  leave  the  place 

Where  duty  holds  him  fast. 

The  good  dame  in  the  cottage 

Is  up  and  astir  with  the  light. 
For  the  thought  of  her  little  Peter 

Has  been  with  her  all  night. 
And  now  she  watches  the  pathway. 

As  yester  eve  she  had  done; 
But  what  does  she  see  so  strange  and  black 

Against  the  rising  sun? 
Her  neighbors  are  bearing  between  them 

Something  straight  to  her  door; 
Her  child  is  coming  home,  but  not 

As  he  ever  came  before! 


**He  is  dead!"  she  cries;  "my  darling!" 
And  the  startled  father  hears, 

And  comes  and  looks  the  way  she  looks, 
And  fears  the  thing  she  fears: 


236    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Till  a  glad  shout  from  the  bearers 

Thrills  the  stricken  man  and  wife: 
"Give  thanks,  for  your  son  has  saved  our  land, 

And  God  has  saved  his  life!" 
So,  there  in  the  morning  sunshine 

They  knelt  about  the  boy; 
And  every  head  was  bared  and  bent 

In  tearful,  reverent  joy. 


'T  is  many  a  year  since  then;  but  still, 

When  the  sea  roars  like  a  flood, 
Their  boys  are  taught  what  a  boy  can  do 

Who  is  brave  and  true  and  good. 
For  every  man  in  that  country 

Takes  his  son  by  the  hand. 
And  tells  him  of  little  Peter, 

Whose  courage  saved  the  land. 

They  have  many  a  valiant  hero, 

Remembered  through  the  years: 
But  never  one  whose  name  so  oft 

Is  named  with  loving  tears. 
And  his  deed  shall  be  sung  by  the  cradle, 

And  told  to  the  child  on  the  knee, 
So  long  as  the  dikes  of  Holland 

Divide  the  land  from  the  sea! 

(Condensed.)   Phoehe  Cary. 


The  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest       237 


THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S-NEST 

Once  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Spain, 
With  his  swarthy,  grave  commanders, 

I  forget  in  what  campaign. 

Long  besieged,  in  mud  and  rain. 
Some  old  frontier  town  of  Flanders. 

Up  and  down  the  dreary  camp, 
In  great  boots  of  Spanish  leather. 

Striding  with  a  measured  tramp, 

These  Hidalgos,  dull  and  damp. 

Cursed  the  Frenchmen,  cursed  the  weather. 

Thus  as  to  and  fro  they  went, 

Over  upland  and  through  hollow, 
Giving  their  impatience  vent, 
Perched  upon  the  Emperor's  tent. 
In  her  nest,  they  spied  a  swallow. 

Yes,  it  was  a  swallow's  nest, 

Built  of  clay  and  hair  of  horses, 
Mr.ne,  or  tail,  or  dragoon's  crest, 
Found  on  hedge-rows  east  and  west, 
After  skirmish  of  the  forces. 

Then  an  old  Hidalgo  said. 

As  he  twirled  his  gray  mustachio: 


238    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

"Sure  this  swallow  overhead 
Thinks  the  Emperor's  tent  a  shed, 
And  the  Emperor  but  a  Macho!" 

Hearing  his  imperial  name 

Coupled  with  those  words  of  malice. 
Half  in  anger,  half  in  shame, 
Forth  the  great  campaigner  came 

Slowly  from  his  canvas  palace. 

"Let  no  hand  the  bird  molest," 
Said  he  solemnly,  "nor  hurt  her!" 

Adding  then,  by  way  of  jest, 

"Golondrina  is  my  guest, 

'T  is  the  wife  of  some  deserter!" 

Swift  as  bowstring  speeds  a  shaft, 
Through  the  camp  was  spread  the  rumor, 

And  the  soldiers,  as  they  quaffed 

Flemish  beer  at  dinner,  laughed 
At  the  Emperor's  pleasant  humor. 

So  unharmed  and  unafraid 

Sat  the  swallow  still  and  brooded, 
Till  the  constant  cannonade 
Through  the  walls  a  breach  had  made 
And  the  siege  was  thus  concluded. 

Then  the  army,  elsewhere  bent. 
Struck  its  tents  as  if  disbanding, 


The  Nibelungen  Treasure       239 

Only  not  the  Emperor's  tent, 
For  he  ordered,  ere  he  went. 

Very  curtly:  "Leave  it  standing!" 

So  it  stood  there  all  alone, 

Loosely  flapping,  torn  and  tattered, 
Till  the  brood  was  fledged  and  flown, 
Singing  o'er  those  walls  of  stone 

Which  the  cannon-shot  had  shattered. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfelloto, 


THE  NIBELUNGEN  TREASURE 

It  was  an  ancient  monarch 

Ruled  where  the  Rhine  doth  flow, 
And  nought  he  loved  so  little 

As  sorrow,  feud,  and  woe; 
His  warriors  they  were  striving 

For  a  treasure  in  the  land; 
In  sooth  they  near  had  perished 

Each  by  his  brother's  hand. 

Then  spake  he  to  the  nobles: 

"What  boots  this  gold,"  he  said, 
"If  with  the  finder's  life-blood 
The  price  thereof  is  paid? 

The  gold,  to  end  the  quarrel, 
Cast  to  the  Rhine  away; 


240   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

There  He  the  treasure  hidden, 
Till  dawns  the  latest  day!" 

The  proud  ones  took  the  treasure, 

And  cast  it  to  the  main; 
I  ween  it  all  hath  melted, 

So  long  it  there  hath  lain: 
But,  wedded  to  the  waters 

That  long  have  o'er  it  rolled, 
It  clothes  the  swelling  vineyards 

With  yellow  gleam,  like  gold. 

Oh,  that  each  man  were  minded. 

As  thought  this  monarch  good, 
That  never  care  might  alter 

His  high,  courageous  mood! 
Then  deeply  would  we  bury 

Our  sorrows  in  the  Rhine, 
And,  glad  of  heart  and  grateful, 

Would  quaff  his  fiery  wine. 

From  the  German. 
Translated  by  H.  fV.  Dulckeru 


BARBAROSSA 

The  ancient  Barbarossa 
By  magic  spell  is  bound. 

Old  Frederic  the  Kaiser, 
In  castle  underground. 


Barbarossa  241 

The  Kaiser  hath  not  perished, 

He  sleeps  an  iron  sleep; 
For,  in  the  castle  hidden, 

He's  sunk  in  slumber  deep. 

With  him  the  chiefest  treasures 

Of  empire  hath  he  ta'en. 
Wherewith,  in  fitting  season, 

He  shall  appear  again. 

The  Kaiser  he  is  sitting 

Upon  an  ivory  throne; 
Of  marble  is  the  table 

His  head  he  resteth  on. 

His  beard  it  is  not  flaxen. 
Like  a  living  fire  it  shines. 

And  groweth  through  the  table 
Whereon  his  chin  reclines. 

As  in  a  dream  he  noddeth. 
Then  wakes  he,  heavy-eyed, 

And  calls,  with  lifted  finger, 
A  stripling  to  his  side. 

'Dwarf,  get  thee  to  the  gateway, 

And  tidings  bring,  If  still 
Their  course  the  ancient  ravens 
Are  wheeling  round  the  hill. 


242   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

'*For  if  the  ancient  ravens 
Are  flying  still  around, 
A  hundred  years  to  slumber 
By  magic  spell  I'm  bound." 

From  the  German  of  Friedrich  RuckcTU 
Translated  by  H.  W.  Dulcken. 

THE  RICHEST  PRINCE 

All  their  wealth  and  vast  possessions 
Vaunting  high  in  choicest  terms, 

Sat  the  German  princes  feasting 
In  the  knightly  hall  of  Worms. 

**Mighty,"  cried  the  Saxon  ruler, 

"Are  the  wealth  and  power  I  wield: 
In  my  country's  mountain  gorges 
Sparkling  silver  lies  concealed. " 

**See  my  land  with  plenty  glowing," 
Quoth  the  Palsgrave  of  the  Rhine; 

"Beauteous  harvests  In  the  valleys, 
On  the  mountains  noble  wine." 

"Spacious  towns  and  wealthy  convents,'* 

Lewis  spake,  Bavaria's  lord, 
"Make  my  land  to  yield  me  treasures 

Great  as  those  your  fields  afford.'* 


The  Battle  of  Blenheim         243 

Wiirtemberg's  beloved  monarch, 
Eberhard  the  Bearded,  cried: 
**See,  my  land  hath  little  cities, 
'Mong  my  hills  no  metals  bide; 

**  Yet  one  treasure  it  hath  borne  me,  — 
Sleeping  in  the  woodland  free, 
I  may  lay  my  head  in  safety 
On  my  lowliest  vassal's  knee." 

Then,  as  with  a  single  utterance. 
Cried  aloud  those  princes  three: 
''Bearded  count,  thy  land  hath  jewels! 
Thou  art  wealthier  far  than  we!" 

From  the  German  of  Andreas  J.  Kerner, 
Translated  by  H.  W.  Dulcken. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM 

{August  13,  1704) 

It  was  a  summer  evening. 
Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 

And  he  before  his  cottage  door 
Was  sitting  in  the  sun; 

And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 

His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roll  something  large  and  round, 


244    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

WTiich  he,  beside  the  rivulet, 

In  playing  there,  had  found; 
He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found, 
Tiiat  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy, 

Who  stood  expectant  by; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head. 
And,  with  a  natural  sigh, 
•*'T  is  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"Who  fell  in  the  great  victory! 

"I  find  them  in  the  garden, 

For  there's  many  here  about; 
And  often  when  I  go  to  plough, 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out! 
For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 
"Were  slain  in  that  great  victory!" 

*'Now  tell  us  what  't  was  all  about," 
Young  Peterkin  he  cries; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 
With  wonder-waiting  eyes; 
"Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war. 
And  what  they  killed  each  other  for." 

"It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 
"Who  put  the  French  to  rout; 
But  what  they  fought  each  other  for, 
I  could  not  well  make  out; 


The  Battle  of  Blenheim         245 

But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 
**That  't  was  a  famous  victory. 

"My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 

Yon  little  stream  hard  by; 
They  burned  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

"With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide; 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

And  new-born  baby  died; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

"They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won; 
For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun. 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 

"Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlboro'  won, 
And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 

"Why,  't  was  a  very  wicked  thing!" 
Said  little  Wilhelmine. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,"  quoth  he, 

"It  was  a  famous  victory! 


(( 


246   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

"And  everybody  praised  the  Duke  , 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 
"But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?" 
Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
Why  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he, 
But  't  was  a  famous  victory." 

Robert  Southey, 


NAPOLEON  AND  THE  ENGLISH 
SAILOR  BOY 

I  LOVE  contemplating  —  apart 
From  all  his  homicidal  glory  — 

The  traits  that  soften  to  our  heart 
Napoleon's  story. 

'T  was  when  his  banners  at  Boulogne 
Armed  in  our  island  every  freeman; 

His  navy  chanced  to  capture  one 
Poor  British  seaman. 

They  suffered  him  —  I  know  not  how  -— 
Unprisoned  on  the  shore  to  roam; 

And  aye  was  bent  his  longing  brow 
On  England's  home. 

His  eye,  methinks,  pursued  the  flight 
Of  birds  to  Britain  half-way  over 


Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor   247 

With  envy,  —  they  could  reach  the  white, 
Dear  cliffs  of  Dover. 

A  stormy  midnight  watch,  he  thought, 

Than  this  sojourn  would  have  been  dearer, 

If  but  the  storm  his  vessel  brought 
To  England  nearer. 

At  last,  when  care  had  banished  sleep, 

He  saw  one  morning  —  dreaming  —  doting, 

An  empty  hogshead  from  the  deep 
Come  shoreward  floating. 

He  hid  it  in  a  cave,  and  wrought 
The  livelong  day  laborious,  lurking, 

Until  he  launched  a  tiny  boat 
By  mighty  working. 

Heaven  help  us !  't  was  a  thing  beyond 
Description  wretched:  such  a  wherry 

Perhaps  ne'er  ventured  on  a  pond. 
Or  crossed  a  ferry. 

For  ploughing  in  the  salt  sea  field, 

It  would  have  made  the  boldest  shudder; 

Untarred,  uncompassed,  and  unkeeled. 
No  sail  —  no  rudder. 

From  neighboring  woods  he  interlaced 
His  sorry  skiff  with  wattled  willows; 


248    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

And  thus  equipped  he  would  have  passed 
The  foaming  billows. 

But  Frenchmen  caught  him  on  the  beach, 

His  little  Argo  sorely  jeering; 
Till  tidings  of  him  chanced  to  reach 

Napoleon's  hearing. 

With  folded  arms  Napoleon  stood, 
Serene  alike  in  peace  and  danger, 

And  in  his  wonted  attitude 
Addressed  the  stranger: 

"Rash  man,  that  wouldst  yon  channel  pass 
On  twigs  and  staves  so  rudely  fashioned! 

Thy  heart  with  some  sweet  British  lass 
Must  be  impassioned." 

"I  have  no  sweetheart,"  said  the  lad; 

"But,  absent  long  from  one  another, 
Great  was  the  longing  that  I  had 

To  see  my  mother." 

"And  so  thou  shalt!"  Napoleon  said; 

"Ye've  both  my  favor  fairly  won: 
A  noble  mother  must  have  bred 

So  brave  a  son." 

He  gave  the  tar  a  piece  of  gold. 

And  with  a  flag  of  truce  commanded 


Incident  of  the  French  Camp    249 

He  should  be  shipped  to  England  Old, 
And  safely  landed. 

Our  sailor  oft  could  scantily  shift 
To  find  a  dinner  plain  and  hearty; 

But  never  changed  the  coin  and  gift 
Of  Bonaparte. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


INCIDENT  OF  THE   FRENCH  CAMP 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon;  — 

A  mile  or  so  away, 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming  day; 
With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how, 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind, 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused:  "My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall, 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall,"  — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping;  nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 


250    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy: 

You  hardly  could  suspect  — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed, 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through,) 
You  looked  twice  e'er  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

"Well,"  cried  he,  "Emperor,  by  God's  grace 

We  've  got  you  Ratisbon ! 
The  marshal 's  in  the  market-place, 

And  you  '11  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire, 
Perched  him."   The  chief's  eye  flashed;  his 
plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes: 
"You're   wounded!"     "Nay,"   his   soldier's 
pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said; 
"I'm  killed,  sire!"   And,  his  chief  beside, 

Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 

Robert  Browning. 


King  Canute  251 

KING  CANUTE 

King  Canute  was  weary  hearted;  he  had 

reigned  for  years  a  score, 
Battling,  struggling,  pushing,  fighting,  killing 

much,  and  robbing  more; 
And  he  thought  upon  his  actions,  walking  by 

the  wild  sea-shore. 

'Twixt  the  Chancellor  and  the  Bishop,  walked 
the  King  with  steps  sedate, 

Chamberlains  and  grooms  came  after,  silver- 
sticks  and  gold-sticks  great. 

Chaplains,  aides-de-camp  and  pages,  —  all  the 
officers  of  state. 

Sliding  after  like  his  shadow,  pausing  when  he 

chose  to  pause. 
If  a  frown  his  face  contracted,  straight  the 

courtiers  dropped  their  jaws; 
If  to  laugh  the  King  was  minded,  out  they 

burst  in  loud  hee-haws. 

But  that  day  a  something  vexed  him;  that 
was  clear  to  old  and  young; 

Thrice  His  Grace  had  yawned  at  table  when 
his  favorite  gleemen  sung. 

Once  the  Queen  would  have  consoled  him,  but 
he  bade  her  hold  her  tongue. 


252   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

''Something  ails  my  gracious  master!"  cried 

the  Keeper  of  the  Seal, 
**Sure,  my  lord,  it  is  the  lampreys  served  for 

dinner,  or  the  veal?" 
*'Psha!"    exclaimed     the     angry    monarch, 

"Keeper,  't  is  not  that  I  feel. 

**'T  is  the  heart,  and  not  the  dinner,  fool,  that 

doth  my  rest  impair; 
Can  a  king  be  great  as  I  am,  prithee,  and  yet 

know  no  care? 
Oh,  I'm  sick,  and  tired,  and  weary."    Some 

one  cried:  "The  King's  arm-chair!" 

Then  toward  the  lackeys  turning,  quick  my 

Lord  the  Keeper  nodded. 
Straight  the  King's  great  chair  was  brought 

him,  by  two  footmen  able-bodied; 
Languidly  he  sank  into  it;  it  was  comfortably 

wadded. 

"Nay,  I  feel,"  replied  King  Canute,  "that  my 
end  is  drawing  near." 

"Don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  the  courtiers  (striv- 
ing each  to  squeeze  a  tear). 

"Sure  your  Grace  is  strong  and  lusty,  and 
may  live  this  fifty  year!" 

"Live  these  fifty  years!"  the  Bishop  roared, 
with  actions  made  to  suit. 


King  Canute  253 

"Are  you  mad,  my  good  Lord  Keeper,  thus 

to  speak  of  King  Canute! 
Men  have  lived  a  thousand  years,  and  sure 
His  Majesty  will  do 't. 

"With  his  wondrous  skill  in  healing  ne'er  a 

doctor  can  compete, 
Loathsome  lepers,  if  he  touch  them,  start  up 

clean  upon  their  feet; 
Surely  he  could  raise  the  dead  up,  did  His 

Highness  think  it  meet. 

"Did  not  once  the  Jewish  captain  stay  the 

sun  upon  the  hill, 
And  the  while  he  slew  the  foemen,  bid  the 

silver  moon  stand  still? 
So,  no  doubt,  could  gracious  Canute,  if  it  were 

his  sacred  will." 

"Might  I  stay  the  sun  above  us,  good  Sir 
Bishop?"  Canute  cried, 

"Could  I  bid  the  silver  moon  to  pause  upon 
her  heavenly  ride? 

If  the  moon  obeys  my  orders,  sure  I  can  com- 
mand the  tide! 

"Will  the  advancing  waves  obey  me,  Bishop, 

if  I  make  the  sign?" 
Said  the  Bishop,  bowing  lowly:  "Land  and 

sea,  my  Lord,  are  thine." 


254   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Canute  turned  toward  the  ocean:  "Back!"  he 
said,  "thou  foaming  brine. 

"  From  the  sacred  shore  I  stand  on,  I  command 

thee  to  retreat; 
Venture  not,  thou  stormy  rebel,  to  approach 

thy  master's  seat; 
Ocean,  be  thou  still!    I  bid  thee  come  not 

nearer  to  my  feet!" 

But  the  sullen  ocean  answered  with  a  louder, 

deeper  roar. 
And    the   rapid  waves    drew  nearer,   falling 

sounding  on  the  shore; 
Back  the  Keeper  and  the  Bishop,  back  the  King 

and  courtiers  bore. 

And  he  sternly  bade  them  never  more  to  kneel 

to  human  clay. 
But  alone  to  praise  and  worship  That  which 

earth  and  seas  obey; 
And  his  golden  crown  of  empire  never  wore  he 

from  that  day. 
(Condensed.)    William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


KING  EDWIN'S  FEAST 

There  was  feasting  in  the  hall 
And  the  beards  wagged  all. 


King  Edwin's  Feast  255 

Oh!  the  board  was  heaped  with  food, 
And  the  ale  was  like  a  flood, 

And  't  was  bitter  winter  weather 
When  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and 
Thanes 
Were  a-feasting  thus  together. 

As  the  board  was  heaped  with  food, 
So  the  hearth  was  piled  with  wood; 
Ay,  with  oaken  logs  a  score; 
And  the  flames  did  leap  and  roar. 

And  they  cast  a  ruddy  glow 
On  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and  Thanes 

As  they  feasted  in  a  row. 

All  at  once  they  were  aware 
Of  a  flutter  in  the  air, 
As  a  little  sparrow  came 
In  between  them  and  the  flame, 
Then  a  moment  flew  around, 
While  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and 
Thanes 
Wondered  whither  he  was  bound. 

Then  he  vanished  through  the  door, 
And  they  never  saw  him  more; 
But  up  spoke  a  noble  Thane, 
As  a  silence  seemed  to  reign, 
And  a  wonder  seemed  to  fall 


256    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

On  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and  Thanes 
As  they  feasted  in  the  hall: 

"What  is  all  this  life  of  ours, 
With  its  graces  and  its  powers? 
It  is  like  the  bird  that  came 
In  between  us  and  the  flame, 
Stayed  a  moment  in  the  room 
With  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and 
Thanes, 
Then  was  off  into  the  gloom. 

"So  we  come  out  of  the  night, 
Stay  a  moment  in  the  light 
Of  a  warm  and  pleasant  room, 
Then  go  forth  into  the  gloom; 
Hither  somehow  tempest-tost, 
O  King  Edwin!  and  you,  Eldormen  and 
Thanes, 
Then  again  in  darkness  lost." 

Then  another  silence  fell 

And  the  first  who  broke  the  spell 

Was  Paulinius,  the  Christian,  and  he  said, 

Bowing  low  a  reverent  head 

That  was  white  with  many  years, 
To  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and 
Thanes, 
And  his  words  were  dim  with  tears: 


King  Alfred  the  Harper         257 

"Oh!  not  merely  tempest-tost, 
Not  again  in  darkness  lost, 
Js  the  little  bird  that  came 
In  between  us  and  the  flame; 
For  the  bird  will  find  his  nest. 
So,  King  Edwin,  and  you,  Eldormen  and 
Thanes, 
Be  not  your  hearts  distressed. 

"Not  from  darkness  comes  the  soul, 
Nor  shall  darkness  be  its  goal. 
For  that,  too,  there  is  a  nest, 
Whither  flying  it  shall  rest 
Evermore.    It  must  be  so." 
Said  King  Edwin  and  his  Eldormen  and 
Thanes: 
"Would  to  God  that  we  might  know!" 

John  W.  Chadwick, 


KING  ALFRED  THE   HARPER 

Dark  fell  the  night,  the  watch  was  set, 
The  host  was  idly  spread, 
The  Danes  around  their  watchfires  met, 
Caroused,  and  fiercely  fed. 

The  chiefs  beneath  a  tent  of  leaves, 
And  Guthrum,  king  of  all, 


258   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Devoured  the  flesh  of  England's  beeves, 

And  laughed  at  England's  fall. 

Each  warrior  proud,  each  Danish  earl, 

In  mail  and  wolf-skin  clad, 

Their  bracelets  white  with  plundered  pearl, 

Their  eyes  with  triumph  mad. 

In  stalked  a  warrior  tall  and  rude 

Before  the  strong  sea-kings : 

"Ye  Lords  and  Earls  of  Odin's  brood, 

Without  a  Harper  sings. 

He  seems  a  simple  man  and  poor. 

But  well  he  sounds  the  lay; 

And  well,  ye  Norsemen  chiefs,  be  sure, 

Will  ye  the  song  repay!" 

In  trod  the  bard  with  keen  cold  look, 

And  glanced  along  the  board. 

That  with  the  shout  and  war-cry  shook 

Of  many  a  Danish  lord. 

But  thirty  brows,  inflamed  and  stern. 

Soon  bent  on  him  their  gaze, 

While  calm  he  gazed,  as  if  to  learn 

Who  chief  deserved  his  praise. 

Loud  Guthrum  spake:  —  "Nay,  gaze  not  thus. 

Thou  Harper  weak  and  poor! 

By  Thor!  who  bandy  looks  with  us 

Must  worse  than  looks  endure. 


King  Alfred  the  Harper         259 

Sing  high  the  praise  of  Denmark's  host, 
High  praise  each  dauntless  Earl; 
The  brave  who  stun  this  English  coast 
With  war's  unceasing  whirl." 

The  Harper  slowly  bent  his  head, 

And  touched  aloud  the  string; 

Then  raised  his  face,  and  boldly  said: 

"Hear  thou  my  lay,  O  King! 

High  praise  from  every  mouth  of  man 

To  all  who  boldly  strive, 

Who  fall  where  first  the  fight  began, 

And  ne'er  go  back  alive. 

"Fill  high  your  cups,  and  swell  the  shout, 

At  famous  Regnar's  name! 

Who  sank  his  host  in  bloody  rout, 

When  he  to  Humber  came. 

His  men  were  chased,  his  sons  were  slain. 

And  he  was  left  alone. 

They  bound  him  in  an  iron  chain 

Upon  a  dungeon  stone. 

With  iron  links  they  bound  him  fast; 

With  snakes  they  filled  the  hole. 

That  made  his  flesh  their  long  repast, 

And  bit  into  his  soul. 

"Great  Chiefs,  why  sink  in  gloom  your  eyes? 
Why  champ  your  teeth  in  pain? 


26o   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Still  lives  the  song  though  Regnar  dies! 
Fill  high  your  cups  again. 
Ye  too,  perchance,  O  Norsemen  lords! 
Who  fought  and  swayed  so  long, 
Shall  soon  but  live  in  minstrel  words, 
And  owe  your  names  to  song. 

"This  land  has  graves  by  thousands  more 

Than  that  where  Regnar  lies. 

When  conquests  fade,  and  rule  is  o'er. 

The  sod  must  close  your  eyes. 

How  soon,  who  knows?   Not  chief,  nor  bard; 

And  yet  to  me  't  is  given, 

To  see  your  foreheads  deeply  scarred, 

And  guess  the  doom  of  Heaven. 

"I  may  not  read  or  when  or  how, 

But,  Earls  and  Kings,  be  sure 

I  see  a  blade  o'er  every  brow. 

Where  pride  now  sits  secure. 

Fill  high  the  cups,  raise  loud  the  strain! 

When  chief  and  monarch  fall, 

Their  names  in  song  shall  breathe  again, 

And  thrill  the  feastful  hall." 

Grim  sat  the  chiefs;  one  heaved  a  groan, 
And  one  grew  pale  with  dread, 
His  iron  mace  was  grasped  by  one. 
By  one  his  wine  was  shed. 


King  Alfred  the  Harper         261 

And  Guthrum  cried:  "Nay,  bard,  no  more 
We  hear  thy  boding  lay; 
Make  drunk  the  song  with  spoil  and  gore! 
Light  up  the  joyous  fray!" 

"Quick  throbs  my  brain,"  —  so  burst  the 

song, — 
"To  hear  the  strife  once  more. 
The  mace,  the  axe,  they  rest  too  long; 
Earth  cries,  'My  thirst  is  sore!' 
More  blithely  twang  the  strings  of  bows 
Than  strings  of  harps  in  glee; 
Red  wounds  are  lovelier  than  the  rose, 
Or  rosy  lips  to  me. 

"Oh!  fairer  than  a  field  of  flowers, 

When  iiowers  in  England  grew, 

Would  be  the  battle's  marshalled  powers, 

The  plain  of  carnage  new. 

With  all  its  deaths  before  my  soul 

The  vision  rises  fair; 

Raise  loud  the  song,  and  drain  the  bowl! 

I  would  that  I  were  there!" 

Loud  rang  the  harp,  the  minstrel's  eye 
Rolled  fiercely  round  the  throng; 
It  seemed  two  crashing  hosts  were  nigh, 
Whose  shock  aroused  the  song. 


262    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

A  golden  cup  King  Guthrum  gave 
To  him  who  strongly  played; 
And  said:  "I  won  it  from  the  slave 
Who  once  o'er  England  swayed." 

King  Guthrum  cried:  "'T  was  Alfred's  own; 

Thy  song  befits  the  brave: 

The  King  who  cannot  guard  his  throne 

Nor  wine  nor  song  shall  have!" 

The  minstrel  took  the  goblet  bright, 

And  said:  "I  drink  the  wine 

To  him  who  owns  by  justest  right 

The  cup  thou  bid'st  be  mine. 

To  him,  your  Lord,  Oh,  shout  ye  all! 

His  meed  be  deathless  praise! 

The  King  who  dares  not  nobly  fall, 

Dies  basely  all  his  days." 

**The  praise  thou  speakest,"  Guthrum  said, 

"With  sweetness  fills  mine  ear; 

For  Alfred  swift  before  me  fled. 

And  left  me  monarch  here. 

The  royal  coward  never  dared 

Beneath  mine  eye  to  stand. 

Oh,  would  that  now  this  feast  he  shared. 

And  saw  me  rule  his  land!" 

Then  stern  the  minstrel  rose,  and  spake, 
And  gazed  upon  the  King,  — 


Taillefer  the  Minstrel  263 

"Not  now  the  golden  cup  I  take, 

Nor  more  to  thee  I  sing. 

Another  day,  a  happier  hour, 

Shall  bring  me  here  again: 

The  cup  shall  stay  in  Guthrum's  power 

Till  I  demand  it  then." 

The  Harper  turned  and  left  the  shed, 

Nor  bent  to  Guthrum's  crown; 

And  one  who  marked  his  visage  said 

It  wore  a  ghastly  frown. 

The  Danes  ne'er  saw  that  Harper  more, 

For  soon  as  morning  rose, 

Upon  their  camp  Ki7ig  Alfred  bore, 

And  slew  ten  thousand  foes. 

{Condensed.)   John  Sterling. 


TAILLEFER  THE  MINSTREL 

Duke  William  the  Norman  spake  out  one 

day: 
"Who  sings  in  my  court  and  my  room  alway  .^ 
Who  sings  from  the  morning  till  late  at  night, 
So  sweetly,   my  heart  seems    to    laugh  out- 
right.?" 

"  'T  is  Taillefer,  my  liege,  that  so  sweetly  sings. 
In  the  court,  as  the  windlass  around  he  swings, 


264    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

In  the  room,  as  the  fire  he  fans  and  rakes, 
When  at  eve  he  Hes  down,  and  at  morn 
awakes." 


"T  is  well,"  quoth  the  Duke,  "I've  a  servant 

rare 
In  Taillefer,  who  serves  me  with  faith  and 

care. 
The  wheel  he  turns  and  the  fire  makes  bright, 
And  so  clearly  he  sings  that  my  heart  grows 

light." 

Then  Taillefer  answered:  "Were  I  hut  free, 
Far  better  I'd  labor  and  sing  for  thee! 
How  well  on  horseback  I  'd  serve  my  lord, 
And  sing,  as  I  clashed  my  shield  and  sword!" 

Soon  Taillefer  rode  to  the  battle-field 
On  a  war-horse  stout,  with  sword  and  shield; 
Duke  William's  sister,  as  down  she  gazed 
From  a  turret,   the  knight's  bold   bearing 
praised. 

And  when  'neath  her  turret  he  rode,  he  sang; 
Like  a  breeze,  and  next  like  a  storm  it  rang; 
She  cried:  "When  he  singeth,  what  joys 

awake! 
The  tower  is  shaken,  my  heart  doth  quake!" 


Taillefer  the  Minstrel  265 

Duke  William  sailed  with  a  mighty  host 
O'er  the  rolling  billows  to  England's  coast. 
He  sprang  from  the  ship  —  on  his  hands  he 

fell: 
*'Ha!   England!"  he  shouted,  "I  grasp  thee 

well!" 

As  the  Norman  host  to  the  battle  strode, 
For  a  boon,  to  the  Duke  brave  Taillefer  rode. 
**Many  years  have  I  sung,  while  thy  fire  I 

made. 
Many  years,  while  the  sword  and  the  lance 

I've  swayed. 

"If  I've  served  thee  and  sung  to  thy  heart's 

delight. 
At  first  as  a  servant,  and  last  as  a  knight, 
Then  grant  me  this  boon  —  when  the  morn 

shall  shine. 
Let  the  first  blow  struck  at  the  foe  be  mine!'* 

With  sword  and  spear  he  his  horse  bestrode. 
Before  the  whole  army  brave  Taillefer  rode; 
Over  Hastings'  field  his  song  rang  out, 
Of  Roland  he  sang,  and  of  heroes  stout. 

When  the  "Roland-Song"  rose  loud  as  a 

blast, 
Many  standards  waved,  many  hearts  beat 

fast; 


266    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Its  notes  with  courage  the  knights  inspire: 
For  well,  as  he  sang,  could  he  fan  their  fire  ! 

Then,  charging,  his  first  quick  thrust  he  gave, 
An  English  knight  to  the  ground  he  drave; 
His  sword  he  swung  for  the  first  swift  blow, 
An  English  knight  on  the  ground  lay  low. 

The  Normans  beheld  it,  and  stayed  not  long; 
With    yells     and     smiting    of    shields    they 

throng; 
Hark!  arrows  are  whirring,  swords  clash  in  the 

fray,^ 
Till  Harold  is  slain  and  his  host  gives  way. 

The  Duke  on  the  field  his  standard  spread. 
His  tent  he  pitched  i'  the  midst  o'  the  dead; 
A  golden  beaker  his  table  graced. 
And  the  English  crown  on  his  head  was 
placed. 

"Come,  pledge  me,  my  Taillefer  brave,  this 

day! 
In  love  and  in  grief  thou  hast  tuned  thy  lay, 
But  on  Hastings'  field  thou  hast  sung  me  a 

song 
Shall  ring  in  my  ears  for  my  whole  life  long!" 
From  the  German  of  Ludzvig  Uhland. 
Translated  by  W.  W.  Skeat. 


The  Relief  of  Lucknow         267 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOW 

Oh,  that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort! 

We  knew  that  it  was  the  last; 
That  the  enemy's  lines  crept  surely  on, 

And  the  end  was  coming  fast. 

To  yield  to  that  foe  meant  worse  than  death; 

And  the  men  and  we  all  worked  on; 
It  was  one  day  more  of  smoke  and  roar, 

And  then  it  would  all  be  done. 

There  was  one  of  us,  a  corporal's  wife, 

A  fair,  young,  gentle  thing, 
Wasted  with  fever  in  the  siege. 

And  her  mind  was  wandering. 

She  lay  on  the  ground,  in  her  Scottish  plaid, 
And  I  took  her  head  on  my  knee; 

"When  my  father  comes  hame  frae  the 
pleugh,"  she  said, 
"Oh,  then  please  wauken  me." 

She  slept  like  a  child  on  her  father's  floor, 
In  the  flecking  of  woodbine-shade. 

When  the  house-dog  sprawls  by  the  open 
door. 
And  the  mother's  wheel  is  stayed. 


268    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

It  was  smoke  and  roar  and  powder-stench, 
And  hopeless  waiting  for  death; 

And  the  soldier's  wife,  like  a  full-tired  child, 
Seemed  scarce  to  draw  her  breath. 

I  sank  to  sleep;  and  I  had  my  dream 

Of  an  English  village-lane, 
And  wall  and  garden;  —  but  one  wild  scream 

Brought  me  back  to  the  roar  again. 

There  Jessie  Brown  stood  listening 

Till  a  sudden  gladness  broke 
All  over  her  face;  and  she  caught  my  hand 

And  drew  me  near  as  she  spoke:  — 

"The  Hielanders!   Oh!  dinna  ye  hear 

The  slogan  far  awa'  ? 
The  McGregor's.   Oh!  I  ken  it  weel; 

It's  the  grandest  o'  them  a'! 

*'God  bless  the  bonny  Hielanders! 

We're  saved!  we're  saved!"  she  cried; 
And  fell  on  her  knees;  and  thanks  to  God 

Flowed  forth  like  a  full  flood-tide. 

Along  the  battery-line  her  cry 

Had  fallen  among  the  men, 
And  they  started  back;  —  they  were  there  tc 
die; 

But  was  life  so  near  them,  then? 


The  Relief  of  Lucknow         269 

They  listened  for  life;  the  rattling  fire 

Far  off,  and  the  far-off  roar, 
Were  all;  and  the  colonel  shook  his  head, 

And  they  turned  to  their  guns  once  more. 

But  Jessie  said:  "The  slogan's  done; 

But  winna  ye  hear  it  noo? 
*The  Campbells  arecomin"?  It's  no  a  dream| 

Our  succors  hae  broken  through!" 

We  heard  the  roar  and  the  rattle  afar, 
But  the  pipes  we  could  not  hear; 

So  the  men  plied  their  work  of  hopeless  war^ 
And  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

It  was  not  long  ere  it  made  its  way,  — 

A  thrilling,  ceaseless  sound : 
It  was  no  noise  from  the  strife  afar, 

Or  the  sappers  under  ground. 

It  was  the  pipes  of  the  Highlanders! 

And  now  they  played  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 
It  came  to  our  men  like  the  voice  of  God, 

And  they  shouted  along  the  line. 

And   they   wept,   and   shook   one   another's 
hands, 

And  the  women  sobbed  in  a  crowd ; 
And  every  one  knelt  down  where  he  stood, 

And  we  all  thanked  God  aloud. 


270   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

That  happy  time,  when  we  welcomed  them, 

Our  men  put  Jessie  first; 
And  the  general  gave  her  his  hand,  and  cheers 

Like  a  storm  from  the  soldiers  burst. 

And  the  pipers'  ribbons  and  tartan  streamed. 
Marching  round  and  round  our  line; 

And  our  joyful  cheers  were  broken  with  tears. 
As  the  pipes  played  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 
Robert  Traill  Spencf  Lowell. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 


A  STORY  of  Ponce  de  Leon, 

A  voyager,  withered  and  old, 
Who  came  to  the  sunny  Antilles, 

In  quest  of  a  country  of  gold. 
He  was  wafted  past  islands  of  spices, 

As  bright  as  the  emerald  seas. 
Where  all  the  forests  seem  singing. 

So  thick  were  the  birds  on  the  trees. 
There  came  to  De  Leon,  the  sailor, 

Some  Indian  sages,  who  told 
Of  a  region  so  bright  that  the  waters 

Were  sprinkled  with  islands  of  gold. 
And  they  added:  "The  leafy  Bimini, 

A  fair  land  of  grottos  and  bowers, 


The  Fountain  of  Youth         271 

Is  there;  and  a  wonderful  fountain 

Upsprings  from  its  gardens  of  flowers. 
That  fountain  gives  life  to  the  dying, 

And  youth  to  the  aged  restores; 
They  flourish  in  beauty  eternal, 

Who  set  but  their  foot  on  its  shores!" 
Then  answered  De  Leon,  the  sailor, 

"I  am  withered,  and  wrinkled,  and  old; 
I  would  rather  discover  that  fountain. 

Than  a  country  of  diamonds  and  gold." 


II 

Away  sailed  De  Leon,  the  sailor; 

Away  with  a  wonderful  glee, 
Till  the  birds  were  more  rare  in  the  azure. 

The  dolphins  more  rare  in  the  sea. 
Away  from  the  shady  Bahamas, 

Over  waters  no  sailor  had  seen. 
Till  again  on  his  wondering  vision. 

Rose  clustering  islands  of  green. 
Still  onward  he  sped  till  the  breezes 

Were  laden  with  odors,  and  lo! 
A  country  embedded  with  flowers, 

A  country  with  rivers  aglow! 
More  bright  than  the  sunny  Antilles, 

More  fair  than  the  shady  Azores. 
"Thank  the  Lord ! "  said  De  Leon,  the  sailor. 

As  feasted  his  eye  on  the  shores, 


272   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

"We  have  come  to  a  region,  my  brothers, 
More  lovely  than  earth,  of  a  truth ; 

And  here  is  the  life-giving  fountain,  — 
The  beautiful  Fountain  of  Youth." 

Ill 

Then  landed  De  Leon,  the  sailor, 

Unfurled  his  old  banner,  and  sung; 
But  he  felt  very  wrinkled  and  withered, 

All  around  was  so  fresh  and  so  young. 
The  palms,  ever-verdant,  were  blooming, 

Their  blossoms  e'en  margined  the  seas; 
O'er  the  streams  of  the  forests  bright  flowers 

Hung  deep  from  the  branches  of  trees. 
"Praise  the  Lord!"  sung  De  Leon,  the 
sailor; 

His  heart  was  with  rapture  aflame; 
And  he  said:  "Be  the  name  of  this  region 

By  Florida  given  to  fame. 
'T  is  a  fair,  a  delectable  country, 

More  lovely  than  earth,  of  a  truth; 
I  soon  shall  partake  of  the  fountain,  — 

The  beautiful  Fountain  of  Youth!" 

IV 

But  wandered  De  Leon,  the  sailor, 
In  search  of  that  fountain  in  vain; 

No  waters  were  there  to  restore  him 
To  freshness  and  beauty  again. 


The  Fountain  of  Youth  273 

And  his  anchor  he  lifted  and  murmured, — 

As  the  tears  gathered  fast  in  his  eye: 
"I  must  leave  this  fair  land  of  the  flowers, 

Go  back  o'er  the  ocean,  and  die." 
Then  back  by  the  dreary  Tortugas, 

And  back  by  the  shady  Azores, 
He  was  borne  on  the  storm-smitten  waters 

To  the  calm  of  his  own  native  shores. 
And  that  he  grew  older  and  older, 

His  footsteps  enfeebled  gave  proof. 
Still   he   thirsted  in  dreams  for  the  foun- 
tain, — 

The  beautiful  Fountain  of  Youth. 


One  day  the  old  sailor  lay  dying 

On  the  shores  of  a  tropical  Isle, 
And  his  heart  was  enkindled  with  rapture, 

And  his  face  lighted  up  with  a  smile. 
He  thought  of  the  sunny  Antilles, 

He  thought  of  the  shady  Azores, 
He  thought  of  the  dreamy  Bahamas, 

He  thought  of  fair  Florida's  shores, 
And  when  in  his  mind  he  passed  over 

His  wonderful  travels  of  old. 
He  thought  of  the  heavenly  country, 

Of  the  city  of  jasper  and  gold. 


274    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

"Thank  the  Lord ! "  said  De  Leon,  the  sailor, 
"Thank  the  Lord  for  the  Hght  of  the 
truth, 

I  now  am  approaching  the  fountain, — 
The  beautiful  Fountain  of  Youth." 


VI 

The  cabin  was  silent:  at  twilight 

They  heard  the  birds  singing  a  psalm, 
And  the  wind  of  the  ocean  low  sighing 

Through  groves  of  the  orange  and  palm. 
The  sailor  still  lay  on  his  pallet, 

'Neath   the    low-hanging  vines  of   the 
roof; 
His  soul  had  gone  forth  to  discover 

The  beautiful  Fountain  of  Youth. 

{Condensed.)   Hezekiah  Butterwortht 


QUIVIRA 

Francisco  Coronado  rode  forth  with  all  his 

train, 
Eight  hundred  savage  bowmen,  three  hundred 

spears  of  Spain, 
To    seek    the    rumored    glory   that   pathless 

deserts  hold,  — 
The  City  of  Quivira  whose  walls  are  rich  with 

gold. 


QUIVIRA  275 

Oh,  gay  they  rode  with  plume  on  crest  and 
gilded  spur  at  heel, 

With  gonfalon  of  Aragon  and  banner  of  Castile! 

While  High  Emprise  and  Joyous  Youth,  twin 
marshals  of  the  throng, 

Awoke  Sonora's  mountain  peaks  with  trum- 
pet-note and  song. 

Beside  that  brilliant   army,  beloved  of  serf 

and  lord. 
There  walked  as  brave  a  soldier  as  ever  smote 

with  sword. 
Though  nought  of  knightly  harness  his  russet 

gown  revealed  — 
The  cross  he  bore  as  weapon,  the  missal  was 

his  shield. 

But  rugged  oaths  were  changed  to  prayers, 

and  angry  hearts  grew  tame. 
And   fainting   spirits   waxed   in   faith  where 

Fray  Padilla  came; 
And  brawny  spearmen  bowed  their  heads  to 

kiss  the  helpful  hand 
Of  him  who  spake  the  simple  truth  that  brave 

men  understand. 

What  pen   may  paint  their   daring  —  those 

doughty  cavaliers! 
The  cities  of  the  Zuiii  were  humbled  by  their 

spears. 


276    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Wild  Arizona's  barrens  grew  pallid  in  the  glow 
Of  blades  that  won  Granada  and  conquered 
Mexico. 

They  fared  by  lofty  Acoma;  their  rally-call 
was  blown 

Where  Colorado  rushes  down  through  God- 
hewn  walls  of  stone; 

Still,  North  and  East,  where  deserts  spread, 
and  treeless  prairies  rolled, 

A  Fairy  City  lured  them  on  with  pinnacles  of 
gold. 

Through  all  their  weary  marches  toward  that 

flitting  goal 
They  turned  to  Fray  Padilla  for  aid  of  heart 

and  soul. 
He  bound  the  wounds  that  lance-thrust  and 

flinty  arrow  made; 
He  cheered  the  sick  and  failing;  above  the 

dead  he  prayed. 

Two  thousand  miles  of  war  and  woe  behind 

their  banners  lay: 
And  sadly  fever,  drought  and  toil  had  lessened 

their  array, 
When  came  a  message  fraught  with  hope  to 

all  the  steadfast  band: 
"Good  tidings  from  the  northward,  friends! 

Quivira  lies  at  hand!" 


QUIVTRA  277 

How  joyously  they  spurred  them!  How  sadly 

drew  the  rein! 
There  shone  no  golden  palace,  there  blazed  no 

jeweled  fane. 
Rude  tents  of  hide  of  bison,  dog-guarded,  met 

their  view  — 
A  squalid  Indian  village ;  the  lodges  of  the  Sioux  I 

Then  Coronado  bowed  his  head.    He  spake 

unto  his  men: 
"Our  quest  is  vain,  true  hearts  of  Spain!  Now 

ride  we  home  again. 
And  would  to  God  that  I  might  give  that 

phantom  city's  pride 
In  ransom  for  the  gallant  souls  that  here  have 

sunk  and  died!" 

Back,    back    to    Compostela    the    wayworn 

handful  bore: 
But  sturdy  Fray  Padilla  took  up  the  quest 

once  more. 
His  soul  still  longed  for  conquest,  though  not 

by  lance  and  sword; 
He  burned  to  show  the  Heathen  the  pathway 

to  the  Lord. 

Again  he  trudged  the  flinty  hills  and  dazzling 

desert  sands, 
\nd  few  were  they  that  walked  with  him,  and 

weaponless  their  hands  — 


278   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

But  and  the  trusty  man-at-arms,  Docampo, 
rode  him  near 

Like  Great  Heart  guarding  Christian's  way- 
through  wastes  of  Doubt  and  Fear. 

Where  still  In  silken  harvests  the  prairie-lilies 

toss, 
Among  the  dark  Quiviras  Padilla  reared  his 

cross. 
Within  Its  sacred  shadow  the  warriors  of  the  Kaw 
In  wonder  heard   the   Gospel  of  Love  and 

Peace  and  Law. 

They  gloried  in  their  Brown-robed   Priest; 

and  oft  in  twilight's  gold 
The  warriors  grouped,  a  silent  ring,  to  hear 

the  tale  he  told; 
While   round   the   gentle  man-at-arms  their 

lithe-limbed  children  played 
And  shot  their  arrows  at  his  shield  and  rode 

his  guarded  blade. 

When  thrice  the  silver  crescent  had  filled  its 

curving  shell, 
The  Friar  rose  at  dawning  and  spake  his  flock 

farewell : 
" —  And  if  your  Brothers  northward  be  cruel, 

as  ye  say. 
My  Master  bids  me  seek  them  —  and  dare  I 

answer  'Nay'?" 


Pocahontas  279 

Again  he  strode  the  path  of  thorns;  but  ere 

the  evening  star 
A  savage  cohort  swept  the  plain  in  paint  and 

plumes  of  war. 
Then  Fray  Padilla  spake  to  them  whose  hearts 

were  most  his  own: 
"My  children,  bear  the  tidings  home  —  let 

me  die  here  alone." 

He  knelt  upon  the  prairie,  begirt  by  yelling 

Sioux.  — 
"Forgive  them,  oh,  my  Father!  they  know  not 

what  they  do!" 
The  twanging  bow-strings  answered.    Before 

his  eyes,  unrolled 

The  City  of  Quivira  whose  streets  are  paved 

with  gold. 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


POCAHONTAS 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight; 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde, 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark!  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 

Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 


28o   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Now  they  heap  the  funeral  pyre, 
And  the  torch  of  death  they  Ught; 

Ah!  't  is  hard  to  die  of  fire! 

Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight? 

Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 
Cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud, 

And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade? 
From  the  throng  with  sudden  start 

See,  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight: 

"Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring! 

I  am  daughter  of  the  kiag, 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right!" 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 
Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife. 

Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings, 
And  her  bosom  guards  his  life! 

In  the  woods  of  Powhatan, 
Still  't  is  told  by  Indian  fires 
How  a  daughter  of  their  sires 

Saved  a  captive  Englishman. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


The  First  Thanksgiving  Day     281 
THE   FIRST  THANKSGIVING  DAY 

{November,  1621) 

*' And  now,"  said  the  Governor,  gazing  abroad 

on  the  piled-up  store 
Of  the  sheaves  that  dotted  the  clearings  and 

covered  the  meadows  o'er, 
"'T  is  meet  that  we  render  praises  because  of 

this  yield  of  grain; 
'T  is  meet  that  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  be 

thanked  for  His  sun  and  rain. 

"And  therefore  I,  William  Bradford  (by  the 
grace  of  God  to-day, 

And  the  franchise  of  this  good  people).  Gov- 
ernor of  Plymouth,  say, 

Through  virtue  of  vested  power  —  ye  shall 
gather  with  one  accord. 

And  hold,  in  the  month  November,  thanksgiv- 
ing unto  the  Lord. 

"He  hath  granted  us  peace  and  plenty,  and 
the  quiet  we've  sought  so  long; 

He  hath  thwarted  the  wily  savage,  and  kept 
him  from  wrack  and  wrong; 

And  unto  our  feast  the  Sachem  shall  be  bid- 
den, that  he  may  know 

We  worship  his  own  Great  Spirit  who  maketh 
the  harvest  grow. 


282   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

"So  shoulder  your  matchlocks,  masters:  there 

is  hunting  of  all  degrees; 
And  fishermen,  take  your  tackle,  and  scour 

for  spoil  the  seas; 
And  maidens  and  dames  of  Plymouth,  your 

delicate  crafts  employ 
To  honor  our  First  Thanksgiving,  and  make 

it  a  feast  of  joy! 

*'We  fail  of  the  fruits  and  dainties  —  we  fail 

of  the  old  home  cheer; 
Ah,  these  are  the  lightest  losses,  mayhap,  that 

befall  us  here; 
But  see,  in  our  open  clearings,  how  golden  the 

melons  lie; 
Enrich  them  with  sweets  and  spices,  and  give 

us  the  pumpkin-pie!" 

So,  bravely  the  preparations  went  on  for  the 

autumn  feast; 
The  deer  and  the  bear  were  slaughtered;  wild 

game  from  the  greatest  to  least 
Was   heaped    In   the   colony   cabins;   brown 

home-brew  served  for  wine, 
And  the  plum  and  the  grape  of  the  forest,  for 

orange  and  peach  and  pine. 

At  length  came  the  day  appointed :  the  snow 

had  begun  to  fall, 
But  the  clang  from  the  meeting-house  belfry 

rang  merrily  over  all, 


Rodney's  Ride  283 

And  summoned  the  folk  of   Plymouth,  who 

hastened  with  glad  accord 
To  listen  to  Elder  Brewster  as  he  fervently 

thanked  the  Lord. 

In   his   seat   sat   Governor   Bradford;   men, 

matrons,  and  maidens  fair; 
Miles    Standish    and   all   his   soldiers,   with 

corselet  and  sword,  were  there; 
And  sobbing  and  tears  and  gladness  had  each 

in  its  turn  the  sway, 
For  the  grave  of  the  sweet  Rose  Standish 

o'ershadowed  Thanksgiving  Day. 

And  when  Massasolt,  the  Sachem,  sate  down 

with  his  hundred  braves, 
And  ate  of  the  varied  riches  of  gardens  and 

woods  and  waves. 
And  looked  on  the  granaried  harvest,  —  with 

a  blow  on  his  brawny  chest. 
He  muttered:  "The  good  Great  Spirit  loves 

His  white  children  best!" 

Margaret  Junkin  Preston, 

RODNEY'S  RIDE 

{July  3,  1776) 

In  that  soft  mid-land  where  the  breezes  bear 
The  North  and  the  South  on  the  genial  air, 


284   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Through  the  county  of  Kent,  on  affairs  of  state, 
Rode  Caesar  Rodney,  the  delegate. 

Burly  and  big,  and  bold  and  bluff. 
In  his  three-cornered  hat  and  coat  of  snuff, 
A  foe  to  King  George  and  the  English  State, 
Was  Caesar  Rodney,  the  delegate. 

Into  Dover  village  he  rode  apace, 
And  his  kinsfolk  knew,  from  his  anxious  face, 
It  was  matter  grave  that  brought  him  there. 
To  the  counties  three  on  the  Delaware. 

"Money  and  men  we  must  have,"  he  said, 
"Or  the  Congress  fails  and  our  cause  is  dead; 
Give  us  both  and  the  King  shall  not  work  his 

will. 
We  are  men,  since  the  blood  of  Bunker  Hill!'* 

Comes  a  rider  swift  on  a  panting  bay : 
"Ho,  Rodney,  ho!  you  must  save  the  day, 
For  the  Congress  halts  at  a  deed  so  great, 
And  your  vote  alone  may  decide  its  fate." 

Answered  Rodney  then:   "I  will   ride  with 

speed; 
It  is  Liberty's  stress;  it  is  Freedom's  need. 
When  stands  it.^"  "To-night.  Not  a  moment 

to  spare. 
But  ride  like  the  wind  from  the  Delaware." 


Rodney's  Ride  285 

**Ho,  saddle  the  black!   I've  but  half  a  day, 
And  the  Congress  sits  eighty  miles  away  — 
And  I'll  be  in  time,  if  God  grants  me  grace, 
To  shake  my  fist  in  King  George's  face." 

He  is  up;  he  is  off!  and  the  black  horse  flies 
On  the  northward  road  ere  the  "God-speed'* 

dies; 
It  is  gallop  and  spur,  as  the  leagues  they  clear, 
And  the  clustering  mile-stones  move  a-rear. 

It  is  two  of  the  clock;  and  the  fleet  hoofs  fling 
The  Fieldboro's  dust  with  a  clang  and  a  cling; 
It  is  three;  and  he  gallops  with  slack  rein 

where 
The  road  winds  down  to  the  Delaware. 

Four;  and  he  spurs  into  New  Castle  town, 
From  his  panting  steed  he  gets  him  down  — 
"A  fresh  one,  quick!  not  a  moment's  wait!" 
And  off  speeds  Rodney,  the  delegate. 

It  is  five;  and  the  beams  of  the  western  sun 
Tinge  the  spires  of  Wilmington  gold  and  dun; 
Six;  and  the  dust  of  Chester  Street 
Flies  back  in  a  cloud  from  the  courser's  feet. 

It  is  seven;  the  horse-boat  broad  of  beam, 
At    the    Schuylkill    ferry    crawls    over    the 
stream  — 


286   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

And  at  seven-fifteen  by  the  Rittenhouse  clock. 
He  flings  his  reins  to  the  tavern  jock.  - 

The  Congress  is  met;  the  debate  's  begun, 
And  Liberty  lags  for  the  vote  of  one  — 
When  into  the  hall,  not  a  moment  late, 
Walks  Caesar  Rodney,  the  delegate. 

Not  a  moment  late!  and  that  half  day's  ride 
Forwards  the  world  with  a  mighty  stride; 
For  the  act  was  passed;  ere  the  midnight 

stroke 
O'er  the  Quaker  City  its  echoes  woke. 

At  Tyranny's  feet  was  the  gauntlet  flung; 
"We   are   free!"   all   the   bells   through   the 

colonies  rung. 
And  the  sons  of  the  free  may  recall  with  pride 
The  day  of  Delegate  Rodney's  ride. 

Elbridge  Sireeter  Brooks. 


PAUL  REVERE'S   RIDE 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 


Paul  Revere^s  Ride  287 

He  said  to  his  friend:  "If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry-arch 
Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light, — 
One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be. 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said :  "Good  night ! "  and  with  muffled 

oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore. 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay. 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war; 
A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 
Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 
And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 
By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,    his    friend,   through    alley   and 

street. 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears. 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door. 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers, 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 


288    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Then  he  climbed  the  tower  of  the  Old  North 

Church, 
By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 
And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade,  — 
By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall, 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall. 
Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town. 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill. 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 
The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 
And  seeming  to  whisper:  "All  is  well!" 
A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 
Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the   secret 

dread 
Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead; 
For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 
On  a  shadowy  something  far  away. 
Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay,  — 
A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 
On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 


Paul  Revere's  Ride  289 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth. 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo!  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 
He   springs   to   the   saddle,   the   bridle   he 

turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight, 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark. 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a 

spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet: 
That  was  all!    And  yet,  through  the  gloom 

and  the  light, 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his 

flight, 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 


290    Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and 

deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides; 
And  under  the  alders  that  skirt  its  edge, 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford 

town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog, 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog, 
That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and 

bare, 
Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare. 
As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 
At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 


Paul  Revere's  Ride  291 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 
Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 
And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 
Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 
Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.   In  the  books  you  have 

read, 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled,  — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball. 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farm-yard  wall, 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road. 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere; 
And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of 

alarm 
To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm,  — 
A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 
A  voice  In  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door. 
And  a  word  that  shall  echo  forevermore! 
For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 
Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last. 
In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 
The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 


292   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed 
And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

REUBEN  JAMES 

{August  3,  1804) 

Three  ships  of  war  had  Preble  when  he  left 

the  Naples  shore, 
And  the  knightlyKingof  Naples  lent  him  seven 

galleys  more, 
And  never  since  the  Argo  floated  in  the  middle 

sea 
Such  noble  men  and  valiant  have  sailed  in 

company 
As  the  men  who  went  with  Preble  to  the  siege 

of  Tripoli. 
Stewart,  Bainbridge,    Hull,    Decatur  —  how 

their  names  ring  out  like  gold! 
Lawrence,  Porter,  Trippe,  Macdonough,  and 

a  score  as  true  and  bold; 
Every  star  that  lights  theii-  banner  tells  the 

glory  that  they  won; 
But  one  common  sailor's  glory  is  the  splendor 

of  the  sun. 

Reuben  James  was  first  to  follow  when  Deca- 
tur laid  aboard 

Of  the  lofty  Turkish  galley  and  In  battle 
broke  his  sword. 


Reuben  James  293 

Then  the  pirate  captain  smote  him,  till  his 

blood  was  running  fast, 
And  they  grappled  and  they  struggled,  and 

they  fell  beside  the  mast. 
Close   behind   him   Reuben    battled   with   a 

dozen,  undismayed, 
Till   a   bullet  broke  his   sword-arm,  and  he 

dropped  the  useless  blade. 
Then  a  swinging  Turkish  sabre  clove  his  left 

and  brought  him  low. 
Like  a  gallant  bark,  dismasted,  at  the  mercy 

of  the  foe. 
Little  mercy  knows  the  corsair:  high  his  blade 

was  raised  to  slay. 
When  a  richer  prize  allured  him  where  Decatur 

struggling  lay. 
"Help!"  the  Turkish  leader  shouted,  and  his 

trusty  comrade  sprung. 
And    his    scimitar    like    lightning   o'er   the 

Yankee  captain  swung. 

Reuben  James,    disabled,   armless,   saw  the 

sabre  flashed  on  high, 
Saw    Decatur    shrink    before    It,    heard    the 

pirate's  taunting  cry, 
Saw,  In  half  the  time  I  tell  it,  how  a  sailor 

brave  and  true 
Still  might  show  a  bloody  pirate  what  a  dying 

man  can  do. 


294   Historical  Legends  and  Stories 

Quick  he  struggled,  stumbling,  sliding  in  the 
blood  around  his  feet, 

As  the  Turk  a  moment  waited  to  make  ven- 
geance doubly  sweet. 

Swift  the  sabre  fell,  but  swifter  bent  the  sail- 
or's head  below, 

And  upon  his  'fenceless  forehead  Reuben 
James  received  the  blow! 

So  was  saved  our  brave  Decatur;  so  the  com- 
mon sailor  died; 

So  the  love  that  moves  the  lowly  lifts  the 
great  to  fame  and  pride. 

Yet  we  grudge  him  not  his  honors,  for  whom 
love  like  this  had  birth  — 

For  God  never  ranks  His  sailors  by  the  Regis- 
ter of  earth! 

James  Jefrey  Roche. 


SACRED   STORIES  AND   LEGENDS 


THE  THREE  KINGS  OF  COLOGNE 

From  out  Cologne  there  came  three  kings 
To  worship  Jesus  Christ,  their  King. 

To  Him  they  sought  fine  herbs  they  brought, 
And  many  a  beauteous  golden  thing; 

They  brought  their  gifts  to  Bethlehem  town. 

And  in  that  manger  set  them  down. 

Then  spake  the  first  king,  and  he  said: 

"O  Child,  most  heavenly,  bright,  and  fair! 

I  bring  this  crown  to  Bethlehem  town, 
For  Thee,  and  only  Thee,  to  wear; 

So  give  a  heavenly  crown  to  me, 

When  I  shall  come  at  last  to  Thee!" 

The  second,  then.  "  I  bring  Thee  here 
This  royal  robe,  O  Child!"  he  cried; 

"Of  silk  't  is  spun,  and  such  an  one 
There  is  not  in  the  world  beside; 

So  in  the  day  of  doom  requite 

Me  with  a  heavenly  robe  of  white!" 

The  third  king  gave  his  gift,  and  quoth: 
"Spikenard  and  myrrh  to  Thee  I  bring, 

And  with  these  twain  would  I  most  fain 
Anoint  the  body  of  my  King; 


298       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

So  may  their  Incense  sometimes  rise 
To  plead  for  me  in  yonder  skies!" 

Thus  spake  the  three  kings  of  Cologne, 
That  gave  their  gifts,  and  went  their  way; 

And  now  kneel  I  in  prayer  hard  by 
The  cradle  of  the  Child  to-day; 

Nor  crown,  nor  robe,  nor  spice  I  bring 

As  offering  unto  Christ,  my  King. 

Yet  have  I  brought  a  gift  the  Child 
May  not  despise,  however  small; 

For  here  I  lay  my  heart  to-day 
And  it  is  full  of  love  to  all. 

Take  Thou  the  poor  but  loyal  thing, 

My  only  tribute,  Christ,  my  King! 

Eugene  Field. 

BABOUSCKA 

A  Russian  Legend  of  Christmas 

Babouscka  sits  before  the  fire, 

Upon  a  winter's  night, 
The  driving  winds  heap  up  the  snow, 

Her  hut  is  snug  and  tight; 
The  howling  winds,  they  only  make 

Babouscka's  fire  more  bright! 

She  hears  a  knocking  at  the  door, 
So  late  —  who  can  it  be? 


THE  THREE    KINGS 


Babouscka  299 

She  hastes  to  lift  the  wooden  latch 

(No  thought  of  fear  has  she) : 
The  wind-blown  candle  in  her  hand 

Shines  out  on  strangers  three. 

Their  beards  are  white  with  age,  and  snow 

That  in  the  darkness  flies; 
Their  floating  locks  are  long  and  white, 

But  kindly  are  the  eyes 
That  sparkle  underneath  their  brows, 

Like  stars  in  frosty  skies. 

"Babouscka,  we  have  come  from  far; 

We  tarry  but  to  say, 
A  little  Prince  is  born  this  night 

Who  all  the  world  shall  sway. 
Come  join  the  search;  come,  go  with  us 

Who  go  these  gifts  to  pay." 

Babouscka  shivers  at  the  door: 

**I  would  I  might  behold 
The  little  Prince  who  shall  be  King; 

But  ah,  the  night  is  cold, 
The  wind  so  fierce,  the  snow  so  deep, 

And  I,  good  sirs,  am  old!" 

The  strangers  three,  no  word  they  speak. 

But  fade  in  snowy  space  — 
Babouscka  sits  before  the  fire, 

And  looks  with  wistful  face: 


300       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

"I  wish  that  I  had  questioned  them, 
So  I  the  way  might  trace! 

**When  morning  comes,  with  blessed  lights 

I'll  early  be  awake. 
My  staff  in  hand,  I'll  go  —  perchance, 

Those  strangers  overtake. 
And  for  the  Child,  some  little  toys 

I'll  carry  for  His  sake." 

The  morning  came,  and,  staif  in  hand. 

She  wandered  in  the  snow; 
And  asked  the  way  of  all  she  met, 

But  none  the  way  could  show. 
*'It  must  be  farther  yet,"  she  sighed, 

"Then  farther  will  I  go." 

And  still  't  is  said,  on  Christmas  eve, 
When  high  the  drifts  are  piled. 

With  staff,  and  basket  on  her  arm, 
Babouscka  seeks  the  Child. 

At  every  door  her  face  is  seen  — 
Her  wistful  face  and  mild! 

At  every  door  her  gifts  she  leaves, 

And  bends,  and  murmurs  low. 
Above  each  little  face  half  hid 
By  pillows  white  as  snow: 
**And  is  He  here.^"'  —  then  softly  sighs: 
"Nay;  farther  must  I  go!" 

Edith  M.  Thomas, 


The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher    301 
THE  PARABLE  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

From  The  Golden  Legend 

To  a  king's  court  a  Giant  came,  — 

"O  King,  both  far  and  near 
I  seek,"  he  said,  "the  Greatest  King; 

And  thou  art  he,  I  hear. 

**If  it  please  thee,  I  will  abide; 
To  thee  my  knee  shall  bend; 
Only  unto  the  Greatest  Kings 
Can  giants  condescend." 

Right  glad  the  King  the  Giant  took 

Into  his  service  then, 
For  since  Goliath's  mighty  days 

No  man  so  big  was  seen. 

Well  pleased  the  Giant,  too,  to  serve 

The  Greatest  King  on  earth ; 
He  served  him  well,  in  peace,  in  war, 

In  sorrow,  and  in  mirth, 

Till  came  a  wandering  minstrel  by, 
One  day,  who  played  and  sang 

Wild  songs,  through  which  the  devil's  name 
Profanely,  loudly  rang. 

Astonished  then  the  Giant  saw 
The  King  look  sore  afraid; 


302       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

At  mention  of  the  devil's  name, 
The  cross's  sign  he  made. 

"How  now,  my  master!   Why  dost  thou 
Make  on  thy  breast  this  sign?" 
He  said.    "It  is  a  spell,"  replied 
The  King —  "a  spell  divine, 

**  Which  shall  the  devil  circumvent, 
And  keep  me  safe  and  whole 
From  all  the  wicked  arts  he  tries 
To  slay  my  precious  soul." 

"Oh,  ho,  my  master!  then  he  is 
More  powerful  than  thou! 
They  lied  who  called  thee  Greatest  King; 
I  leave  thy  service  now, 

"And  seek  the  devil;  him  will  I 
My  master  call  henceforth," 
The  Giant  cried,  and  strode  away 
Contemptuous  and  wroth. 

He  found  the  devil  soon.    I  ween 

The  devil  waited  near, 
Well  pleased  to  have  this  mighty  man 

Within  his  ranks  appear. 

They  journeyed  on  full  many  a  day, 
And  now  the  Giant  deemed 


The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher    303 

At  last  he  had  a  master  found, 
Who  was  the  king  he  seemed. 

But  lo!  one  day  they  came  apace 
To  where  four  road-ways  met, 

And  at  the  meeting  of  the  roads 
A  cross  of  stone  was  set. 

The  devil  trembled  and  fell  back, 
And  said:  "We  go  around." 
"Now  tell  me,"  fierce  the  Giant  cried, 
"Why  fearest  thou  this  ground?" 

The  devil  would  not  answer.   "Then 

I  leave  thee,  master  mine," 
The  Giant  said.    "Of  something  wrong 

This  mystery  is  sign." 

Then  answered  him  the  fiend,  ashamed: 
"'T  was  there  Christ  Jesus  died; 

Wherever  stands  a  cross  like  that, 
I  may  not,  dare  not  bide." 

"Ho,  ho!"  the  Giant  cried  again, 

Surprised  again,  perplexed; 
"Then  Jesus  is  the  Greatest  King,  — 

I  seek  and  serve  him  next." 

The  King  named  Jesus,  far  and  near. 
The  weary  Giant  sought; 


304      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

His  name  was  everywhere  proclaimed, 
His  image  sold  and  bought, 

His  power  vaunted,  and  his  laws 
Upheld  by  sword  and  fire; 

But  him  the  Giant  sought  in  vain, 
Until  he  cried  in  ire, 

One  winter  eve,  as  late  he  came 
Upon  a  hermit's  cell: 
"Now  by  my  troth,  tell  me,  good  saint. 
Where  doth  thy  master  dwell? 

"For  I  have  sought  him  far  and  wide. 
By  leagues  of  land  and  sea; 
I  seek  to  be  his  servant  true, 
In  honest  fealty. 

*'I  have  such  strength  as  kings  desire. 
State  to  their  state  to  lend; 
But  only  to  the  Greatest  King 
Can  giants  condescend." 

Then  said  the  hermit,  pale  and  wan: 

"Oh,  giant  man!  Indeed 
The  King  thou  seekest  doth  all  kings 

In  glorious  power  exceed; 

"But  they  who  see  him  face  to  face. 
In  full  communion  clear. 


The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher    305 

Crowned  with  his  kingdom's  splendor  bright. 
Must  buy  the  vision  dear. 

"Dwell  here,  O  brother,  and  thy  lot 
With  ours  contented  cast, 
And  first,  that  flesh  be  well  subdued, 
For  days  and  nights  thou 'It  fast!" 

"I  fast!"  the  Giant  cried,  amazed. 
"Good  saint,  I'll  no  such  thing. 
My  strength  would  fail;  without  that,  I, 
Were  fit  to  serve  no  king!" 

"Then  thou  must  pray,"  the  hermit  said; 
"We  kneel  on  yonder  stone, 
And  tell  these  beads,  and  for  each  bead 
A  prayer,  one  by  one." 

The  Giant  flung  the  beads  away. 
Laughing  in  scornful  pride. 
"I  will  not  wear  my  knees  on  stones; 
I  know  no  prayers,"  he  cried. 

Then  said  the  hermit:  "Giant,  since 
Thou  canst  not  fast  nor  pray, 

I  know  not  if  our  Master  will 
Save  thee  some  other  way. 

"But  go  down  to  yon  river  deep, 
Where  pilgrims  daily  sink. 


3o6       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

And  build  for  thee  a  little  hut 
Close  on  the  river's  brink, 

"And  carry  travelers  back  and  forth 
Across  the  raging  stream; 
Perchance  this  service  to  our  King 
A  worthy  one  will  seem." 

**Now  that  is  good,"  the  Giant  cried; 
"That  work  I  understand; 
A  joyous  task  't  will  be  to  bear 
Poor  souls  from  land  to  land, 

'"Who,  but  for  me,  would  sink  and  drown. 
Good  saint,  thou  hast  at  length 
Made  mention  of  a  work  which  is 
Fit  for  a  giant's  strength." 

For  many  a  year,  in  lowly  hut, 

The  Giant  dwelt  content 
Upon  the  bank,  and  back  and  forth 

Across  the  stream  he  went. 

And  on  his  giant  shoulders  bore 

All  travelers  who  came, 
By  night,  by  day,  or  rich  or  poor, 

All  in  King  Jesus'  name. 

But  much  he  doubted  if  the  King 
His  work  would  note  or  know. 


The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher     307 

And  often  with  a  weary  heart 
He  waded  to  and  fro. 

One  night,  as  wrapped  in  sleep  he  lay, 
He  sudden  heard  a  call: 
■*0h,  Christopher,  come  carry  me!" 
He  sprang,  looked  out,  but  all 

Was  dark  and  silent  on  the  shore. 

"It  must  be  that  I  dreamed," 
He  said,  and  laid  him  down  again; 

But  instantly  there  seemed 

Again  the  feeble,  distant  cry: 

"Oh,  come  and  carry  me!" 
Again  he  sprang,  and  looked;  again 

No  living  thing  could  see. 

The  third  time  came  the  plaintive  voice, 

Like  infant's  soft  and  weak; 
With  lantern  strode  the  Giant  forth, 

More  carefully  to  seek. 

Down  on  the  bank  a  little  Child 
He  found,  —  a  piteous  sight,  — 

Who,  weeping,  earnestly  implored 
To  cross  that  very  night. 

With  gruff  good-will,  he  picked  him  up, 
And  on  his  neck  to  ride, 


3o8       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

He  tossed  him,  as  men  play  with  babes, 
And  plunged  into  the  tide. 

But  as  the  water  closed  around 
His  knees,  the  Infant's  weight 

Grew  heavier  and  heavier, 
Until  it  was  so  great 

The  Giant  scarce  could  stand  upright. 
His  staff  shook  in  his  hand. 

His  mighty  knees  bent  under  him, 
He  barely  reached  the  land, 

And,  staggering,  set  the  Infant  down. 
And  turned  to  scan  his  face; 

When,  lo!  he  saw  a  halo  bright 
Which  lit  up  all  the  place. 

Then  Christopher  fell  down  afraid 

At  marvel  of  the  thing, 
And  dreamed  not  that  it  was  the  face 

Of  Jesus  Christ,  his  King, 

Until  the  Infant  spoke,  and  said: 

"Oh,  Christopher,  behold! 
I  am  the  Lord  whom  thou  hast  served! 

Rise  up,  be  glad,  and  bold! 

For  I  have  seen  and  noted  well 
Thy  works  of  charity; 


The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher    309 

And  that  thou  art  my  servant  good, 
A  token  thou  shalt  see. 


"Plant  firmly  here  upon  this  bank 
Thy  stalwart  staff  of  pine, 
And  it  shall  blossom  and  bear  fruit, 
This  very  hour,  in  sign." 

Then,  vanishing,  the  Infant  smiled. 

The  Giant,  left  alone. 
Saw  on  the  bank,  with  luscious  dates 

His  stout  pine  staff  bent  down. 

For  many  a  year,  St.  Christopher 
Served  God  in  many  a  land; 

And  master  painters  drew  his  face. 
With  loving  heart  and  hand. 

On  altar  fronts  and  church's  walls; 

And  peasants  used  to  say, 
To  look  on  good  St.  Christopher 

Brought  luck,  for  all  the  day. 

I  think  the  lesson  is  as  good 

To-day  as  it  was  then  — 
As  good  to  us  called  Christians 
As  to  the  heathen  men. 

(Condensed.)   Helen  Hunt  Jackson, 


310       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

THE  LEGEND  OF  EASTER  EGGS 

Trinity  bells  with  their  hollow  lungs, 

And    their    vibrant    lips    and    their    brazen 

tongues, 
Over  the  roofs  of  the  city  pour 
Their  Easter  music  with  joyous  roar, 
Till  the  soaring  notes  to  the  Sun  are  rolled 
As  he  swings  along  in  his  path  of  gold. 

"Dearest  Papa,"  says  my  boy  to  me. 
As  he  merrily  climbs  on  his  mother's  knee, 
"Why  are  these  eggs  that  you  see  me  hold 
Colored  so  finely  with  blue  and  gold  ? 
And  what  is  the  wonderful  bird  that  lays 
Such  beautiful  eggs  upon  Easter  days?" 

Tenderly  shine  the  April  skies. 

Like  laughter  and  tears  in  my  child's  blue 

eyes, 
And  every  face  in  the  street  is  gay,  — 
Why  cloud  this  youngster's  by  saying  nay? 
So  I  cudgel  my  brains  for  the  tale  he  begs, 
And  tell  him  this  story  of  Easter  eggs:  — 

You  have  heard,  my  boy,  of  the  Man  who 

died, 
Crowned  with  keen  thorns  and  crucified; 


The  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs       311 

And  how  Joseph  the  wealthy  —  whom  God 

reward !  — 
Cared  for  the  corse  of  his  martyred  Lord, 
And  piously  tombed  it  within  the  rock, 
And  closed  the  gate  with  a  mighty  block. 

Now,  close  by  the  tomb  a  fair  tree  grew, 
With  pendulous  leaves  and  blossoms  of  blue; 
And  deep  in  the  green  tree's  shadowy  breast 
A  beautiful  singing  bird  sat  on  her  nest, 
Which  was  bordered  with  mosses  like  mala- 
chite, 
And  held  four  eggs  of  an  ivory  white. 

Now,  when  the  bird  from  her  dim  recess 
Beheld  the  Lord  in  His  burial  dress, 
And  looked  on  the  heavenly  face  so  pale, 
And  the  dear  hands  pierced  with  the  cruel 

nail, 
Her  heart  nigh  broke  with  a  sudden  pang, 
And  out  of  the  depth  of  her  sorrow  she  sang. 

All  night  long  till  the  moon  was  up 
She  sat  and  sang  in  her  moss-wreathed  cup; 
A  song  of  sorrow  as  wild  and  shrill 
As  the  homeless  wind  when  it  roams  the  hill; 
So  full  of  tears,  so  loud  and  long. 
That  the  grief  of  the  world  seemed  turned  to 
song. 


312       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

But  soon  there  came   through   the  weeping 

night 
A  glittering  Angel  clothed  in  white; 
And  he  rolled  the  stone  from  the  tomb  away, 
Where  the  Lord  of  the  earth  and  the  heavens 

lay; 
And  Christ  arose  in  the  cavern's  gloom, 
And  in  living  lustre  came  from  the  tomb. 

Now,  the  bird  that  sat  in  the  heart  of  the  tree 
Beheld  this  celestial  mystery, 
And  its  heart  was  filled  with  a  sweet  delight, 
And  it  poured  a  song  on  the  throbbing  night,  — 
Notes  climbing  notes,  till  higher,  higher, 
They  shot  to  Heaven  like  spears  of  fire. 

When  the  glittering  white-robed  Angel  heard 
The  sorrowing  song  of  the  grieving  bird, 
And,  after,  the  jubilant  paean  of  mirth 
That  hailed  Christ  risen  again  on  earth. 
He  said:  "Sweet  bird,  be  forever  blest, 
Thyself,   thy   eggs,   and   thy  moss-wreathed 
nest!" 

And  ever,  my  child,  since  that  blessed  night. 
When  Death    bowed  down  to   the   Lord  of 

Light, 
The  eggs  of  that  sweet  bird  change  their  hue; 
And  burn  with  red  and  gold  and  blue: 


Good  King  Wenceslas  313 

Reminding  mankind  in  their  simple  way 
Of  the  holy  marvel  of  Easter  Day. 

Fitz-James  O'Brien. 


GOOD  KING  WENCESLAS 

Good  King  Wenceslas  looked  out 

On  the  Feast  of  Stephen, 
When  the  snow  lay  round  about, 

Deep,  and  crisp,  and  even. 
Brightly  shone  the  moon  that  night, 

Though  the  frost  was  cruel, 
When  a  poor  man  came  in  sight, 

Gath'ring  winter  fuel. 

**  Hither,  page,  and  stand  by  me, 
If  thou  know'st  it,  telling. 
Yonder  peasant,  who  is  he.^* 

Where  and  what  his  dwelling.?'* 
"Sire,  he  lives  a  good  league  hence. 
Underneath  the  mountain; 
Right  against  the  forest  fence, 
By  Saint  Agnes'  fountain." 

"Bring  me  flesh,  and  bring  me  wine. 
Bring  me  pine-logs  hither: 
Thou  and  I  will  see  him  dine. 
When  we  bear  them  thither." 


314       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Page  and  monarch  forth  they  went, 
Forth  they  went  together; 

Through  the  rude  wind's  wild  lament 
And  the  bitter  weather. 

"Sire,  the  night  is  darker  now, 
And  the  wind  blows  stronger; 
Fails  my  heart,  I  know  not  how, 
I  can  go  no  longer." 
**Mark  my  footsteps,  good  my  page; 
Tread  thou  in  them  boldly: 
Thou  shalt  find  the  winter's  rage 
Freeze  thy  blood  less  coldly.'* 

In  his  master's  steps  he  trod, 

Where  the  snow  lay  dinted; 
Heat  was  in  the  very  sod 

Which  the  saint  had  printed. 
Therefore,  Christian  men,  be  sure. 

Wealth  or  rank  possessing, 
Ye  who  now  will  bless  the  poor. 

Shall  yourselves  find  blessing.' 

Old  Carol. 


BROTHER  HUBERT 

Holy-thoughted  Brother  Hubert, 
In  his  cell  one  evening  sat, 


Brother  Hubert  315 

Painting  angels  in  a  missal 
Which  he  long  had  labored  at; 

Till  the  ringers  in  the  belfry 

Chimed  the  hour  of  setting  sun, 

And  he  closed  his  precious  volume, 
Saying:  "Now  my  work  is  done. 

"Time  flies  fast  when  one  paints  angels; 
I  had  not  thought  it  was  so  late; 
I  must  go  and  feed  the  poor  folk 
Waiting  at  the  Convent  gate." 

Kneeling  low,  he  prayed  a  moment. 
Turning  then  to  leave  the  room, 

Started  —  for  he  saw  a  figure 
Standing  in  a  purple  gloom. 

Sharpest  thorns  his  head  surrounded. 
Cruel  cords  his  thin  wrists  bound, 

In  his  hands  and  feet  were  nail-prints. 
In  his  side  a  spear-point  wound; 

And  a  purely  glowing  radiance 
From  his  face  was  shed  abroad; 

By  these  signs  the  pious  Hubert 
Knew  the  vision  was  his  Lord. 

On  his  Master,  glory  stricken, 
Long  the  Monk  gazed  silently, 


3i6       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Till  the  thought  arose  within  him 
"Ah!  how  blessed  I  should  be 

"Could  my  eyes  but  dwell  forever 
On  that  dear,  that  glorious  head; 
But  below  the  Convent  children 
Wait  impatient  to  be  fed." 

Straightway  where  the  poor  folk  waited 
For  their  evening  dole  he  went, 

Since  the  monks,  though  worn  by  fasting, 
For  the  needy  kept  no  Lent. 

And  good  Hubert  every  sunset, 
(As  the  Convent  book  records), 

At  the  gate  stood  giving  freely 
Bread  and  wine  and  loving  words. 

So  this  evening  all  the  poor  folk 
Feasted  to  their  hearts'  content, 

Till  they  left  the  gateway  taking 
Hubert's  blessing  as  they  went. 

Swiftly  then  the  good  Monk  hastened 
Down  the  halls  and  through  his  door; 

Lo!  the  vision  still  was  waiting. 
Only  brighter  than  before. 

And  the  Master,  turning  on  him 
Eyes  of  blessing,  smiled  and  said: 


St.  Francis'  Sermon  to  the  Birds    317 

"Feeding  these  ones  thou  hast  fed  me, 
Hadst  thou  staid  I  must  have  fled." 

From  an  Old  Legend. 


ST.  FRANCIS'   SERMON  TO  THE 
BIRDS 

Around  Assisi's  convent  gate 
The  birds,  God's  poor  who  cannot  wait. 
From  moor  and  mere  and  darksome  wood 
Come  flocking  for  their  dole  of  food. 

"O  brother  birds,"  St.  Francis  said, 
"Ye  come  to  me  and  ask  for  bread. 
But  not  with  bread  alone  to-day 
Shall  ye  be  fed  and  sent  away. 

"Ye  shall  be  fed,  ye  happy  birds, 

With  manna  of  celestial  words; 

Not  mine,  though  mine  they  seem  to  be. 

Not  mine,  though  they  be  spoken  through  me. 

"Oh,  doubly  are  ye  bound  to  praise 
The  great  Creator  in  your  lays; 
He  giveth  you  your  plumes  of  down, 
Your  crimson  hoods,  your  cloaks  of  brown. 

"He  giveth  you  your  wings  to  fly 
And  breathe  a  purer  air  on  high, 


3i8       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

And  careth  for  you  everywhere, 
Who  for  yourselves  so  little  care!" 

With  flutter  of  swift  wings  and  songs 
Together  rose  the  feathered  throngs, 
And  singing  scattered  far  apart; 
Deep  peace  was  in  St.  Francis'  heart. 

He  knew  not  if  the  brotherhood 
His  homily  had  understood; 
He  only  knew  that  to  one  ear 
The  meaning  of  his  words  was  clear. 

(Condensed.)    Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE  ABBOT  OF  INISFALEN 

I 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 

Awoke  ere  dawn  of  day; 
Under  the  dewy  green  leaves 

Went  he  forth  to  pray. 

The  lake  around  his  island 

Lay  smooth  and  dark  and  deep, 

And,  wrapt  in  a  misty  stillness, 
The  mountains  were  all  asleep. 

Low  kneel'd  the  Abbot  Cormac, 
When  the  dawn  was  dim  and  gray; 


The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen  319 

The  prayers  of  his  holy  office 
He  faithfully  'gan  say. 

Low  kneel'd  the  Abbot  Cormac, 
When  the  dawn  was  waxing  red, 

And  for  his  sins'  forgiveness 
A  solemn  prayer  he  said. 

Low  kneel'd  that  holy  Abbot 

When  the  dawn  was  waxing  clear; 

And  he  pray'd  with  loving-kindness 
For  his  convent  brethren  dear. 

Low  kneel'd  that  blessed  Abbot, 
When  the  dawn  was  waxing  bright; 

He  pray'd  a  great  prayer  for  Ireland, 
He  pray'd  with  all  his  might. 

Low  kneel'd  that  good  old  father, 
While  the  sun  began  to  dart; 

He  pray'd  a  prayer  for  all  mankind, 
He  pray'd  it  from  his  heart. 

II 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 

Arose  upon  his  feet; 
He  heard  a  small  bird  singing, 

And,  oh,  but  it  sung  sweet! 


320      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

He  heard  a  white  bird  singing  well 

Within  a  holly-tree; 
A  song  so  sweet  and  happy 

Never  before  heard  he. 


It  sung  upon  a  hazel, 

It  sung  upon  a  thorn; 
He  had  never  heard  such  music 

Since  the  hour  that  he  was  born. 

It  sung  upon  a  sycamore, 

It  sung  upon  a  briar; 
To  follow  the  song  and  hearken 

This  Abbot  coald  never  tire. 

Till  at  last  he  well  bethought  him 

He  might  no  longer  stay; 
So  he  bless'd  the  little  white  singing-bird, 

And  gladly  went  his  way. 

Ill 

But  when  he  came  to  his  Abbey  walls, 
He  found  a  wondrous  change; 

He  saw  no  friendly  faces  there, 
For  every  face  was  strange. 

The  strangers  spoke  unto  him; 
And  he  heard  from  all  and  each 


The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen  321 

The  foreign  tone  of  the  Sassenach, 
Not  wholesome  Irish  speech. 

Then  the  oldest  monk  came  forward, 
In  Irish  tongue  spake  he: 
"Thou  wearest  the  holy  Augustine's  dress, 
And  who  hath  given  it  to  thee?" 

*'I  wear  the  holy  Augustine's  dress, 
And  Cormac  is  my  name, 
The  Abbot  of  this  good  Abbey 
By  grace  of  God  I  am. 

"I  went  forth  to  pray,  at  the  dawn  of 
day; 
And  when  my  prayers  were  said, 
I  hearkened  awhile  to  a  little  bird 
That  sung  above  my  head." 

The  monks  to  him  made  answer, 

"Two  hundred  years  have  gone  o'er, 

Since  our  Abbot  Cormac  went  through 
the  gate. 
And  never  was  heard  of  more. 

"Matthias  now  is  our  Abbot, 

And  twenty  have  passed  away. 
The  stranger  is  lord  of  Ireland; 
We  live  in  an  evil  day." 


322       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

IV 

"Now  give  me  absolution; 

For  my  time  is  come,"  said  he. 
And  they  gave  him  absolution 
As  speedily  as  might  be. 

Then,  close  outside  the  window, 
The  sweetest  song  they  heard 

That  ever  yet  since  the  world  began 
Was  uttered  by  any  bird. 

The  monks  looked  out  and  saw  the  bird, 
Its  feathers  all  white  and  clean; 

And  there  in  a  moment,  beside  it, 
Another  white  bird  was  seen. 

Those  two  they  sang  together, 

Waved  their  white  wings,  and  fled; 

Flew  aloft,  and  vanished; 

But  the  good  old  man  was  dead. 

They  buried  his  blessed  body 

Where  lake  and  greensward  meet; 

A  carven  cross  above  his  head, 
A  holly-bush  at  his  feet; 

Where  spreads  the  beautiful  water 

To  gay  or  cloudy  skies. 
And  the  purple  peaks  of  Killarney 

From  ancient  woods  arise. 

William  Allinghavu 


The  Monk  of  Heisterbach       323 

THE  MONK  OF  HEISTERBACH 

In  cloister  Heisterbach  a  youthful  monk 
Went  sauntering  through  the  garden's  far- 
thest ground, 
Reading  God's  H0I7  Word  In  silence,  sunk 
In  musing  on  eternity  profound. 

He  reads,  and  hears  the  Apostle  Peter  say: 
"One  day  Is  with  the  Lord  a  thousand  years, 
A  thousand  years  with  him  are  but  a  day,"  — 
But,  in  his  maze  of  doubt,  no  clew  appears. 

He  heeds  not,  lost  In  thought,  the  flight  of 

time, 
And  deeper  In  the  wood  Is  lost  his  track, 
Until  the  bell,  with  holy  vesper  chime. 
To  serious  cloIster-dutles  calls  him  back. 

He  reaches  with  swift  steps  the  gate;  the  hand 
Of  an  unknown  one  answers  now  the  bell; 
He  starts  —  but  sees  the  church  all  lighted 

stand. 
And  hears  the  friars  the  holy  chorus  swell. 

Then,  entering,  to  his  seat  he  straightway  goes, 
But  strange  to  tell,  he  finds  It  occupied; 
He  looks  upon  the  monks  In  their  long  rows. 
He  sees  all  strangers,  there,  on  every  side. 


324       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

The  staring  one  is  stared  at  all  around, 

They  ask  his  name,  and  why  he  there  appears; 

He  tells,  —  low  murmurs  through  the  chapel 
sound! 

"None  such  has  lived  here  these  three  hun- 
dred years. 

"The  last  who  bore  the  name,"  out  spake  the 

crowd, 
"A  doubter  was,  and  disappeared  one  day; 
None,   since,   to  take  that  name  has   been 

allowed"  — 
He  hears  the  word,  and  shudders  with  dismay. 

He  names  the  abbot  now,  and  names  the  year: 
They  call  for  the  old  cloister-book,  and  lo! 
A  mighty  miracle  of  God  is  clear: 
'T  is  he  was  lost  three  hundred  years  ago! 

The  terror  palsies  him, —  his  hair  grows  gray, — • 
A  deathly  paleness  settles  on  his  face,  — 
He  sinks,  —  while  breath  enough  is  left  to  say: 
"God  is  exalted  over  time  and  space! 

"What  he  had  hid,  a  miracle  now  clears; 
Think  of  my  fate,  believe,  adore,  obey! 
I  know:  a  day  Is  as  a  thousand  years 
With  God,  a  thousand  years  are  as  a  day!" 

From  the  German  of  Karl  Wilhelm  Miiller. 
Translated  by  C.  T.  Brooks. 


A  Legend  of  Toledo  325 


A  LEGEND  OF  TOLEDO 

Far  down  below  the  Christian  captives  pine 
In   dungeon   depths,  and  whoso  dares   to 
bring 
Assuagements  for  their  wounds,  or  food,  or 
wine, 
Must  brave  the  fiercest  vengeance  of  the 
King. 

Richly  is  spread  above  the  royal  board, 
The  palace  windows  blaze  with  festal  light, 

And  many  a  lady,  many  a  Moorish  lord. 
The  morning's  triumph  celebrate  at  night. 

But  could  they  all  without  remorse  or  fear 
Feast,  as  though  on  earth  were  to  be  found 

No  hunger  to  appease,  no  want  to  cheer. 
No  dark  and  hopeless  places  underground? 

Neither  of  knight  nor  captain  is  it  told 

That  he  was  shamed  at  heart  to  do  this 
thing; 

One  only  was  there,  pitiful  and  bold  — 
A  maiden,  daughter  of  this  impious  King. 

Three  times  the  beauteous  messenger  of  grace 
She,  passing  to  the  dungeon  from  the  hall, 


326       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Shone  like  an  angel  in  that  gloomy  place, 
And  brought  relief  to  some,  and  hope  to  all. 

But  envious  eyes  were  on  her,  and  her  sire, 
Upon  her  way,  encountering  unawares 

Her  passing  thither  the  fourth  time,  in  ire 
Bids  show  what  hidden  in  her  lap  she  bears. 

Thus,  willing  to  condemn  her  in  the  sight 
Of  all,  he  spake:   she  tremblingly  obeyed, 

When,  if  old  legends  speak  the  truth  aright. 
Flowers  filled  her  lap,  —  those  only  it  dis- 
played: 

Roses  and  pinks  and  lilies  there  were  found, 
Marvel  to  her  and  them  who  saw  the  same; 
All  sweetest  flowers  that  grow  from  earthly 
ground. 
But  nothing  that  might  bring  rebuke  or 
blame. 

Whate'er  is  sown  in  love —  the  lowliest  deed  — 
Shall  bloom  and  be  a  flower  in  Paradise; 

Yet  springs  not  often  from  that  precious  seed 
Harvest  so  prompt  as  this  before  our  eyes. 

But  afterward  how  rescued  from  the  court, 
And  from  a  faith  which  cannot  save  or  bless, 

To  far-off  hermitage  she  made  resort, 
A  saintly  dweller  in  the  wilderness, 


A  Legend  of  Toledo  327 

Her  story,  pictured  on  a  cloister  wall 
In  old  Toledo,  gives  us  not  to  know: 

This  only  there  appears,  and  this  is  all 

We  need  to  ask,  whether  of  weal  or  woe  — • 

That  unto  her  who  was  in  mercy  bold, 

Was  given  the  knowledge  of  a  faith  divine; 

For  there  in  death  we  see  her,  and  her  hold 
Is  on  the  Cross,  salvation's  blessed  sign. 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


KING   SOLOMON  AND  THE  BEES 

A  Tale  of  the  Talmud 

When  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory, 
Unto  his  throne  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came 

(So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read  the  story) 
Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  monarch's  fame, 

To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court,  and  bring 

Some  fitting  tribute  to  the  mighty  King. 

Nor  this  alone:  much  had  her  Highness  heard 
What  flowers  of  learning  graced  the  royal 
speech; 
What  gems  of  wisdom  dropped  with  every 
word; 
What  wholesome  lessons  he  was  wont  to 
teach 


328       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

In   pleasing   proverbs;   and   she   wished,    in 

sooth, 
To  know  If  Rumor  spoke  the  simple  truth. 

Besides,  the  Queen  had  heard  (which  piqued 
her  most) 
How  through  the  deepest  riddles  he  could 
spy; 
How  all  the  curious  arts  that  women  boast 

Were  quite  transparent  to  his  piercing  eye; 
And  so  the  Queen  had  come  —  a  royal  guest — 
To  put  the  sage's  cunning  to  the  test. 

And  straight  she  held  before  the  monarch's 
view. 
In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of  flowers; 
The  one,  bedecked  with  every  charming  hue, 
Was  newly  culled  from  Nature's  choicest 
bowers; 
The  other,  no  less  fair  In  every  part. 
Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest  Art. 

"Which  is  the  true,  and  which  the  false.'"'  she 
said. 
Great  Solomon  was  silent.   All-amazed, 
Each  wondering  courtier  shook  his  puzzled 
head; 
While  at  the  garlands  long  the  monarch 
gazed, 


King  Solomon  and  the  Bees       329 

As  one  who  sees  a  miracle,  and  fain 

For  very  rapture,  ne'er  would  speak  again. 

"Which  is  the  true?"  once  more  the  woman 
asked, 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement  of  the  King, 
"So  wise  a  head  should  not  be  hardly  tasked, 
Most   learned   Liege,   with   such    a  trivial 
thing!" 
But  still  the  sage  was  silent;  it  was  plain 
A  deepening  doubt  perplexed  the  royal  brain. 

While  thus  he  pondered,  presently  he  sees, 
Hard  by  the  casement  —  so  the  story  goes  — 

A  little  band  of  busy,  bustling  bees, 
Hunting  for  honey  in  a  withered  rose. 

The   monarch   smiled,   and   raised   his   royal 
head; 

**Open  the  window!"  —  that  was  all  he  said. 

The  window  opened  at  the  King's  command ; 

Within  the  room  the  eager  insects  flew. 
And  sought  the  flowers  in  Sheba's  dexter  hand ! 
And  so  the  King  and  all  the  courtiers  knew 
That  wreath  was  Nature's;  and  the  baffled 

Queen 
Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she  had  seen. 

(Condensed.)  John  G.  Saxe, 


330       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

BISMILLAH 

Forth  from  his  tent   the  patriarch  Abraham 

stept, 
And   lengthening  shadows   slowly  past  him 

crept. 

For  many  days  he  scarce  had  broke  his  fast, 
Lest  some  poor  wanderer  should  come  at  last, 

And,  scanty  comfort  finding,  go  his  way, 
In  doubt  of  God's  great  mercy  day  by  day. 

But  deep  contentment  in  his  calm  eyes  shone 
When  he  beheld,  afar,  a  pilgrim  lone, 

Fare  slowly  toward  him  from  the  flaming  west, 
With  weary  steps  betokening  need  of  rest. 

When  that  he  came  anear,  straightway  was 

seen 
An  aged  man  of  grave  and  reverend  mien. 

**  Guest  of  mine  eyes,  here  let  thy  footsteps 

halt," 
The  patriarch  said,  "  and  share  my  bread  and 

salt." 

Then  calling  to  his  kinsfolk,  soon  the  board 
Was  laden  richly  with  the  patriarch's  hoard. 


BiSMILLAH  331 

And  when  around  the  fair  repast  they  drew, 
"  Bismillah !  "^  said  they  all  with  reverence  due ; 

Save  only  he  for  whom  the  feast  was  spread; 
He  bowed  him  gravely,  but  no  word  he  said. 

Then  Abraham  thus :  "O  Guest,  is  it  not  meet 
To  utter  God's  great  name  ere  thou  dost  eat? " 

The  pilgrim  answered,  courteous  but  calm, 
"Good  friend,  of  those  who  worship  fire  I  am." 

Then  Abraham  rose,  his  brow  with  anger  bent 
And  drove  the  aged  Gheber  from  his  tent. 

That  instant,  swifter  than  a  flashing  sword, 
Appeared  and  spake  an  Angel  of  the  Lord. 

In  shining  splendor  wrapt,  the  bright  one  said : 
"An  hundred  years  upon  this  aged  head 

"God's  mercy  hath   been   lavished  from  on 

high. 
In  life  and  sun  and  rain.    Dost  thou  deny 

"What  God  withholds  not  from  the  meanest 

clod?" 

The  patriarch  bowed  in  meekness.    Great  is 

Godl 

David  L.  Proudfiit. 

*  "  In  the  name  of  God." 


332       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

ABOU  BEN  ADHEM  AND  THE  ANGEL 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  Angel,  writing  in  a  book  of  gold:  — 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold. 
And  to  the  Presence  in  the  room  he  said : 
"What  writest  thou?"  —  The  Vision  raised 

its  head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 
Answered:  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the 

Lord." 
"And  is  mine  one?"  said  Abou.  "Nay,  not 

so," 
Replied  the  Angel.  Abou  spoke  more  low. 
But  cheerly  still,  and  said:" I  pray  thee,  then. 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow  men." 

The  Angel  wrote,  and  vanished.    The  next 

night 
It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light, 
And  showed  the  names  whom   love  of  God 

had  blessed. 
And,  lo!  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


The  Burial  of  Moses  333 

THE   BURIAL  OF  MOSES 

"And  He  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab, 
over  against  Beth-peor:  but  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepul- 
chre unto  this  day." — Deut.  xxiiv,  6. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab, 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave. 
And  no  man  knows  that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er, 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturn'd  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth,  — 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun;  — 

Noiselessly  as  the  spring-time 
Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 

And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills, 
Open  their  thousand  leaves; 

So  without  sound  of  music. 
Or  voice  of  them  that  wept. 


334       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Silently  down  from  the  mountain's  crown. 
The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle 

On  grey  Beth-peor's  height, 
Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie, 

Look'd  on  the  wondrous  sight; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking 

Still  shuns  that  hallow'd  spot; 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth. 

His  comrades  in  the  war, 
With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  his  funeral  car; 
They  show  the  banners  taken. 

They  tell  his  battles  won. 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed. 

While  peals  the  minute-gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honoured  place, 

With  costly  marble  drest, 
In  the  great  minster  transept 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  choir  sings 

Along  the  emblazoned  wall. 


The  Burial  of  Moses  335 

This  was  the  truest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word; 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen, 
On  the  deathless  page,  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honour  — 

The  hill-side  for  a  pall. 
To  lie  in  state,  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall. 
And  the  dark  rock-pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave. 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave? 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoihn'd  clay 
Shall  break  again,  O  wondrous  thought! 

Before  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapt  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod. 
And  speak  of  the  strife,  that  won  our  life. 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 

O  lonely  grave  In  Moab's  land! 
0  dark  Beth-peor's  hill ! 


336       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  his  mysteries  of  grace, 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  he  loved  so  well. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander, 


THE   MIGHTY  THREE 

Watchfires  are  blazing  on  hill  and  plain; 
The  noonday  light  is  restored  again; 
There  are  shining  arms  in  Raphaim's  vale, 
And  bright  is  the  glitter  of  clanging  mail. 

The  Philistine  hath  fixed  his  encampment 
here; 

Afar  stretch  his  lines  of  banner  and  spear. 

And  his  chariots  of  brass  are  ranged  side  by 
side, 

And  his  war  steeds  neigh  loud  in  their  trap- 
pings of  pride. 

His    tents    are    placed    where     the    waters 

flow; 
The  sun  hath  dried  up  the  springs  below. 
And  Israel  hath  neither  well  nor  pool. 
The  rage  of  her  soldier's  thirst  to  cool. 


The  Mighty  Three  .337 

In  the  cave  of  Adullam  King  David  lies, 
Overcome  with  the  glare  of  the  burning  skies; 
And  his  lip  is  parched  and  his  tongue  is  dry, 
But  none  can  the  grateful  draught  supply. 

Though  a  crowned  king,  in  that  painful  hour 
One  flowing  cup  might  have  bought  his  power. 
What  worth,  in  the  fire  of  thirst,  could  be 
The  purple  pomp  of  his  sovereignty? 

But  no  cooling  cup  from  river  or  spring 
To  relieve  his  want  can  his  servants  bring; 
And  he  cries:  "Are  there  none  in  my  train  or 

state 
Will  fetch  me  the  water  of  Bethlehem  gate?'* 

Then    three   of   his    warriors,    the  "Mighty 

Three," 
The  boast  of  the  monarch's  chivalry. 
Uprose  in  their  strength,  and  their  bucklers 

As  with  eyes  of  flame  on  their  steeds  they 
sprang. 

On  their  steeds  they  sprang,  and  with  spurs  of 

speed 
Rushed  forth  in  the  strength  of  a  noble  deed, 
And  dashed  on  the  foe  like  the  torrent  flood, 
Till  he  floated  away  in  a  tide  of  blood. 


338       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

To  the  right  —  to  the  left  —  where  their  blue 

swords  shine, 
Like  autumn  corn  falls  the  Philistine; 
And  sweeping  along  with  the  vengeance  of  fate, 
The    "mighty"  rush  onward   to  Bethlehem 

gate. 

Through  a  bloody  gap  in  the  shattered  array, 
To  Bethlehem's  gate  they  have  hewn  their 

way; 
Then  backward  they  turn  on  the  corse-covered 

plain, 
And  charge  through  the  foe  to  their  monarch 

again. 

The  King  looks  at  the  cup,  but  the  crystal 

draught 
At  a  price  too  high  for  his  want  hath  been 

bought; 
They  urge  him  to  drink,  but  he  wets  not  his 

lip  ,       . 

Though  great  is  his  need,  he  refuses  to  sip. 

But  he  pours  it  forth  to  Heaven's  Majesty, 

He  pours  it  forth  to  the  Lord  of  the  sky; 

'T  is  a  draught  of  death  —  't  is  a  cup  blood- 
stained — 

'T  is  a  prize  from  man's  suffering  and  agony 
gained. 


The  Vision  of  Belshazzar         339 

Should  he  taste  of  a  cup  that  his  "Mighty- 
Three" 

Had  obtained  by  their  peril  and  jeopardy? 

Should   he   drink  of  their  life?    'T  was  the 
thought  of  a  King; 

And  again  he  returned  to  his  suffering. 

Anonymous, 


THE  VISION  OF   BELSHAZZAR 

The  King  was  on  his  throne, 

The  Satraps  thronged  the  hall; 
A  thousand  bright  lamps  shone 

O'er  that  high  festival. 
A  thousand  cups  of  gold, 

In  Judah  deemed  divine  — 
Jehovah's  vessels  hold 

The  godless  Heathen's  wine. 


In  that  same  hour  and  hall. 

The  fingers  of  a  hand 
Came  forth  against  the  wall, 

And  wrote  as  if  on  sand: 
The  fingers  of  a  man  — 

A  solitary  hand 
Along  the  letters  ran, 

And  traced  them  like  a  wand. 


{( 


340        Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

The  monarch  saw,  and  shook, 

And  bade  no  more  rejoice; 
All  bloodless  waxed  his  look, 

And  tremulous  his  voice. 
Let  the  men  of  lore  appear, 

The  wisest  of  the  earth, 
And  expound  the  words  of  fear. 

Which  mar  our  royal  mirth." 

Chaldea's  seers  are  good, 

But  here  they  have  no  skill; 
And  the  unknown  letters  stood 

Untold  and  awful  still. 
And  Babel's  men  of  age 

Are  wise  and  deep  in  lore; 
But  now  they  were  not  sage, 

They  saw  —  but  knew  no  more., 

A  captive  in  the  land, 

A  stranger  and  a  youth. 
He  heard  the  King's  command, 

He  saw  that  writing's  truth. 
The  lamps  around  were  bright. 

The  prophecy  in  view; 
He  read  it  on  that  night  — 

The  morrow  proved  it  true. 

'Belshazzar's  grave  is  made, 
His  kingdom  passed  away, 


The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib    341 

He,  in  the  balance  weighed, 
Is  light  and  worthless  clay; 

The  shroud,  his  robe  of  state, 
His  canopy  the  stone; 

The  Mede  is  at  his  gate! 
The  Persian  on  his  throne!" 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 


THE   DESTRUCTION  OF 
SENNACHERIB 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the 

fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and 

gold; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars 

on  the  sea. 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep 

Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Summer  is 

green,^ 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were 

seen: 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Autumn 

hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrov"  lay  withered    and 

strown. 


342       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on 

the  blast, 
And  breathed  In  the  face  of  the  foe   as    he 

passed; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and 

chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever 

grew  still. 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all 

wide, 
But  through  It  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of 

his  pride; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the 

turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating 

surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his 

mail; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners 

alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their 

wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal  J 


The  Rabbi  and  the  Prince        343 

And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the 

sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the 

Lord. 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 


THE  RABBI  AND  THE  PRINCE 

A  MONARCH  sat,  in  serious  thought,  alone, 
But  little  recked  he  of  his  robe  and  throne, 
Naught  valuing  the  glory  of  control. 
He  sought  to  solve  the  future  of  his  soul. 
"Why  should  I  bow  the  proud,  imperious  knee 
To  mighty  powers  no  mortal  eye  can  see?" 
So  mused  he  long,  and  turned  this  question 

o'er; 
Then,  with  impatient  tread,  he  paced  the  floor 
'Till    maddened     by    conflicting    trains    of 

thought, 
And  speculations  vague  which  came  to  naught, 
With  feverish  haste  he  clutched  a  tasseled 

cord, 
As  desperate  hands  In  battle  clutch  a  sword. 
"Summon  Jehoshua,"  the  monarch  cried; 
The  white-haired  Rabbi  soon  was  at  his  side. 

"I  bow  no  more  to  powers  I  cannot  see. 
Thy  faith  and  learning  shall  be  naught  to  me, 


344       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Unless,  before  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
Mine  eyes  behold  the  Uncreated  One!" 

The  Rabbi  led  him  to  the  open  air. 

The  oriental  sun,  with  furious  glare, 

Sent   down   its  rays,  like  beams   of  molten 

gold. 
The  aged  teacher,  pointing,  said:  "Behold." 
"I  cannot,"  said  the  prince.    "My  dazzled 

eyes 
Refuse  their  service,  turned  upon  the  skies." 

*'Son  of  the  dust,"  the  Rabbi  gently  said. 
And  bowed  with  reverence  his  hoary  head, 
"This  one  creation   thine   eyes   cannot   be- 
hold. 
Though  by  thy  lofty  state  and  pride  made 

bold. 
How  canst  thou,  then,  behold  the  God  of 

Light, 
Before   whose   face   these   sunbeams   are   as 

night.'' 
Thine  eyes,  before  this  trifling  labor  fall, 
Canst  gaze  on  Him,  who  hath  created  all.^ 
Son  of  the  dust,  repentance  can  atone; 
Return  and  worship  God,  Who  rules  alone." 

James  Clarence  Harvey. 


King  Robert  of  Sicily  345 


KING  ROBERT  OF  SICILY 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 

And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 

With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 

And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat. 

And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 

Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain. 

He  caught  the  words,  ^^  Deposuit  potentes 

De  sede^  et  exaltavit  humiles^^ ; 

And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head 

He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said: 

"What  mean  these  words?"  The  clerk  made 

answer  meet: 
"He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully : 
**'T  is  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue; 
For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known. 
There  is   no  power  can  push   me  from  my 

throne!" 
And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep, 
Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 
When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  night; 
The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  light, 


346       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Save  where  the  lamps,  that  glimmered  few 
and  faint, 

Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around, 

But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 

He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked ; 

He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then 
knocked. 

And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  com- 
plaints. 

And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 

The  sounds  reechoed  from  the  roof  and  walls 

As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 

At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout, 
And   thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of 

prayer. 
Came  with  his  lantern,  asking, "  Who  is  there  ? " 
Half  choked  with  rage.  King  Robert  fiercely 

said: 
"Open:  't  is  I,  the  King!  Art  thou  afraid?" 
The    frightened    sexton,    muttering,    with    a 

curse, 
"This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse!" 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal 

wide; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 


King  Robert  of  Sicily  347 

Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor 

spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bareheaded,   breathless,   and  besprent  with 

mire. 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate; 
Rushed  through  the  courtyard,  thrusting  in 

his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page. 
And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless 

speed; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room, 
Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  per- 
fume. 

There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king, 
Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring, 
King   Robert's   self   in   features,   form,   ar^^ 

height, 
But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light! 


348       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

It  was  an  Angel;  and  his  presence  there 
With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air, 
An  exaltation,  piercing  the  disguise, 
Though  none  the  hidden  Angel  recognize. 

A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 
The  throneless  monarch  on  the  Angel  gazed, 
Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 
With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes; 
Then  said:  "Who  art  thou?  and  why  com'st 

thou  here?" 
To  which  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer: 
"I  am  the  King,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 
From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne!" 
And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words. 
Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their 

swords; 
The  Angel  answered,  with  unruffled  brow: 
*'  Nay,  not  the  King,  but  the  King's  Jester,  thou 
Henceforth  shalt  wear  the  bells  and  scalloped 

cape, 
And  for  thy  counsellor  shalt  lead  an  ape; 
Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 
And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall!" 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and 

prayers. 
They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the 

stairs: 


King  Robert  of  Sicily  349 

A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 
And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door, 
His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange 

alarms, 
The  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms, 
And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 
With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "Long  live  the 

King!" 

Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first 

beam, 
He  said  within  himself:  "It  was  a  dream!" 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head, 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed, 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls. 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their 

stalls, 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape. 
Shivering  and  chattering  sat  the  wretched 

ape. 
It  was  no  dream;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch! 
Days  came  and  went;  and  now  returned  again 
To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign; 
Under  the  Angel's  governance  benign 
The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine, 
And    deep    within    the    mountain's  burning 

breast 
Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 


2SO       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 
Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 
Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  Jesters  wear, 
With  look  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 
Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are 

shorn. 
By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to 

scorn. 
His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 
What  others  left,  —  he  still  was  unsubdued. 
And  when  the  Angel  met  him  on  his  way, 
And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would. say, 
Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 
The  velvet  scabbard  held  a  sword  of  steel: 
"Art  thou  the  King?"  the  passion  of  his  woe 
Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow. 
And,  lifting  high  his  forehead,  he  would  fling 
The  haughty  answer  back:  "I  am,  I  am  the 

Kingl" 

Almost  three  years  were  ended;  when  there 

came 
Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 
From  Valmond,  Emperor  of  AUemaine, 
Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 
By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 
On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome. 
The  Angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests. 
And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests, 


King  Robert  of  Sicily  351 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 
And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 
Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 
Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 
Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 
By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 
With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and 

the  stir 
Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 
And  lo!  among  the  menials,  In  mock  state, 
Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 
His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  In  the  wind. 
The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind, 
King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 
In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they 

went. 

The  Pope  received  them  with  great  pomp  and 

blare 
Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  Saint  Peter's  square. 
Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace. 
Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 
While  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers 
He  entertained  the  Angel  unawares, 
Robert,  the  Jester,burstlng  through  the  crowd. 
Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud: 
"I  am  the  King!  Look,  and  behold  In  me 
Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily! 
This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your 

eyes, 


352       Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Is  an  Impostor  In  a  king's  disguise. 

Do  you  not  know  me?  does  no  voice  within 

Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin?" 

The  Pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 

Gazed  at  the  Angel's  countenance  serene; 

The  Emperor,  laughing,  said:  "It  is  strange 

sport 
To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  Fool  at  court!" 
And  the  poor,  baffled  Jester  In  disgrace 
Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  Holy  Week  went  by. 
And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky; 
The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  Its  light, 
Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright, 
And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men. 
Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 
Even  the  Jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw, 
With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor 

saw, 
He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before. 
And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor, 
He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 
Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heav- 
enward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 
Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 
Homeward  the  Angel  journeyed,  and  again 


King  Robert  of  Sicily  353 

The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train, 
Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 
Unto  Salerno,  and  from  thence  by  sea. 
And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall. 
And,  seated  on  the  throne  in  his  great  hall, 
He  heard  the  Angelus  from  convent  towers, 
As  if  the  better  world  conversed  with  ours. 
He  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher. 
And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire; 
And  when  they  were  alone,  the  Angel  said: 
"Art  thou  the  King?"  Then,  bowing  down  his 

head. 
King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his 

breast. 
And  meekly  answered  him:  "Thou  knowest 

best! 
My  sins  as  scarlet  are;  let  me  go  hence, 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones,  that  pave  the  way  to 

heaven. 
Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven!" 

The  Angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 
A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place. 
And  through  the  open  window,  loud  and  clear, 
They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel 

near, 
Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street: 
"He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 


354     Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree!" 
And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 
Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string: 
*'I  am  an  Angel,  and  thou  art  the  King!'* 

King   Robert,   who   was   standing  near   the 

throne, 
Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo!  he  was  alone! 
But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old. 
With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold; 
And  when  his  courtiers  came,  they  found  him 

there 
Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent 

prayer. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


FRIAR  JEROME'S  BEAUTIFUL  BOOK 

(A.D.   1200) 

The  Friar  Jerome,  for  some  slight  sin. 
Done  in  his  youth,  was  struck  with  woe. 
"When  I  am  dead,"  quoth  Friar  Jerome, 
"  Surely,  I  think  my  soul  will  go 
Shuddering  through  the  darkened  spheres, 
Down  to  eternal  fires  below! 
I  shall  not  dare  from  that  dread  place 
To  lift  mine  eyes  to  Jesus'  face, 
Nor  Mary's,  as  she  sits  adored 


Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book    355 

At  the  feet  of  Christ  the  Lord. 
Alas!  December  's  all  too  brief 
For  me  to  hope  to  wipe  away 
The  memory  of  my  sinful  May!" 
And  Friar  Jerome  was  full  of  grief, 
That  April  evening,  as  he  lay 
On  the  straw  pallet  in  his  cell. 
He  scarcely  heard  the  curfew-bell 
Calling  the  brotherhood  to  prayer; 
But  he  arose,  for  't  was  his  care 
Nightly  to  feed  the  hungry  poor 
That  crowded  to  the  Convent  door. 

His  choicest  duty  it  had  been: 
But  this  one  night  it  weighed  him  down. 
"What  work  for  an  immortal  soul, 
To  feed  and  clothe  some  lazy  clown! 
Is  there  no  action  worth  my  mood, 
No  deed  of  daring,  high  and  pure. 
That  shall,  when  I  am  dead,  endure, 
A  well-spring  of  perpetual  good?" 

And   straight  he  thought  of  those  great 
tomes 
With  clamps  of  gold, — the  Convent's  boast, — 
How  they  endured,  while  kings  and  realms 
Past  into  darkness  and  were  lost; 
How  they  had  stood  from  age  to  age, 
Clad  in  their  yellow  vellum-mail. 


356      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

'Gainst  which  the  Paynim's  godless  rage, 
The  Vandal's  fire,  could  naught  avail: 
Though  heathen  sword-blows  fell  like  hail, 
Though  cities  ran  with  Christian  blood, 
Imperishable  they  had  stood ! 
They  did  not  seem  like  books  to  him. 
But  Heroes,  Martyrs,  Saints,  —  themselves 
The  things  they  told  of,  not  mere  books 
Ranged  grimly  on  the  oaken  shelves. 

To  those  dim  alcoves,  far  withdrawn, 
He  turned  with  measured  steps  and  slow, 
Trimming  his  lantern  as  he  went; 
And  there,  among  the  shadows,  bent 
Above  one  ponderous  folio. 
With  whose  miraculous  text  were  blent 
Seraphic  faces:  Angels,  crowned 
With  rings  of  melting  amethyst; 
Mute,  patient  Martyrs,  cruelly  bound 
To  blazing  fagots ;  here  and  there, 
Some  bold,  serene  Evangelist, 
Or  Mary  in  her  sunny  hair: 
And  here  and  there  from  out  the  words 
A  brilliant  tropic  bird  took  flight; 
And  through  the  margins  many  a  vine 
Went  wandering,  —  roses,  red  and  white, 
Tulip,  wind-flower,  and  columbine 
Blossomed.   To  his  believing  mind 
These  things  were  real,  and  the  wind, 


Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book    357 

Blown  through  the  mullioned  window,  took 
Scent  from  the  liKes  in  the  book. 

"Santa  Maria!"  cried  Friar  Jerome, 
"Whatever  man  illumined  this, 
Though  he  were  steeped  heart-deep  in  sin, 
Was  worthy  of  unending  bliss, 
And  no  doubt  hath  it!  Ah!  dear  Lord, 
Might  I  so  beautify  Thy  Word ! 
What  sacristan,  the  convents  through. 
Transcribes  with  such  precision?  who 
Does  such  initials  as  I  do? 
Lo!  I  will  gird  me  to  this  work. 
And  save  me,  ere  the  one  chance  slips. 
On  smooth,  clean  parchment  I'll  engross 
The  Prophet's  fell  Apocalypse; 
And  as  I  write  from  day  to  day. 
Perchance  my  sins  will  pass  away." 

So  Friar  Jerome  began  his  Book. 
From  break  of  dawn  till  curfew-chime 
He  bent  above  the  lengthening  page. 
Like  some  rapt  poet  o'er  his  rhyme. 
He  scarcely  paused  to  tell  his  beads, 
Except  at  night;  and  then  he  lay 
And  tost,  unrestful,  on  the  straw. 
Impatient  for  the  coming  day,  — 
Working  like  one  who  feels,  perchance, 
That,  ere  the  longed-for  goal  be  won, 


3S8      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

Ere  beauty  bare  her  perfect  breast, 

Black  Death  may  pluck  him  from  the  sun. 

At  intervals  the  busy  brook, 

Turning  the  mill-wheel,  caught  his  ear; 

And  through  the  grating  of  the  cell 

He  saw  the  honeysuckles  peer; 

And  knew  't  was  summer,  that  the  sheep 

In  fragrant  pastures  lay  asleep; 

And  felt,  that,  somehow,  God  was  near. 

In  his  green  pulpit  on  the  elm, 

The  robin,  abbot  of  that  wood. 

Held  forth  by  times ;  and  Friar  Jerome 

Listened,  and  smiled,  and  understood. 

While  summer  wrapt  the  blissful  land, 
What  joy  it  was  to  labor  so, 
To  see  the  long-tressed  Angels  grow 
Beneath  the  cunning  of  his  hand. 
Vignette  and  tail-piece  deftly  wrought! 
And  little  recked  he  of  the  poor 
That  missed  him  at  the  Convent  door; 
Or,  thinking  of  them,  put  the  thought 
Aside.    "  I  feed  the  souls  of  men 
Henceforth,  and  not  their  bodies!"  —  yet 
Their  sharp,  pinched  features,  now  and  then, 
Stole  in  between  him  and  his  Book, 
And  filled  him  with  a  vague  regret. 

Now  on  that  region  fell  a  blight: 
The  corn  grew  cankered  in  its  sheath; 


Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book    359 

And  from  the  verdurous  uplands  rolled 
A  sultry  vapor  fraught  with  death,  — 
A  poisonous  mist,  that,  like  a  pall, 
Hung  black  and  stagnant  over  all. 
Then  came  the  sickness,  —  the  malign 
Green-spotted  terror,  called  the  Pest, 
That  took  the  light  from  loving  eyes. 
And  made  the  young  bride's  gentle  breast 
A  fatal  pillow.   Ah !  the  woe. 
The  crime,  the  madness  that  befell! 
In  one  short  night  that  vale  became 
More  foul  than  Dante's  inmost  hell. 
Men  curst  their  wives;  and  mothers  left 
Their  nursing  babes  alone  to  die. 
And  wantoned,  singing,  through  the  streets. 
With  shameless  brow  and  frenzied  eye; 
And  senseless  clowns,  not  fearing  God,  — 
Such  power  the  spotted  fever  had,  — 
Razed  Cragwood  Castle  on  the  hill. 
Pillaged  the  wine-bins,  and  went  mad. 
And  evermore  that  dreadful  pall 
Of  mist  hung  stagnant  over  all: 
By  day,  a  sickly  light  broke  through 
The  heated  fog,  on  town  and  field; 
By  night  the  moon,  in  anger,  turned 
Against  the  earth  its  mottled  shield. 

Then  from  the  Convent,  two  and  two. 
The  Prior  chanting  at  their  head, 


360      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

The  monks  went  forth  to  shrive  the  sick, 

And  give  the  hungry  grave  its  dead,  — 

Only  Jerome,  he  went  not  forth, 

But  hiding  in  his  dusty  nook, 

"Let  come  what  will,  I  must  illume 

The  last  ten  pages  of  my  Book!" 

He  drew  his  stool  before  the  desk. 

And  sat  him  down,  distraught  and  wan/ 

To  paint  his  darling  masterpiece, 

The  stately  figure  of  Saint  John. 

He  sketched  the  head  with  pious  care. 

Laid  in  the  tint,  when,  powers  of  Grace! 

He  found  a  grinning  Death's-head  there, 

And  not  the  grand  Apostle's  face! 

Then  up  he  rose  with  one  long  cry: 
"'T  is  Satan's  self  does  this,"  cried  he, 
"Because  I  shut  and  barred  my  heart 
When  Thou  didst  loudest  call  to  me! 

0  Lord,  Thou  know'st  the  thoughts  of  men. 
Thou  know'st  that  I  did  yearn  to  make 
Thy  Word  more  lovely  to  the  eyes 

Of  sinful  souls,  for  Christ  his  sake! 
Nathless,  I  leave  the  task  undone: 

1  give  up  all  to  follow  Thee,  — 
Even  like  him  who  gave  his  nets 
To  winds  and  waves  by  Galilee!" 

Which  said,  he  closed  the  precious  Book 
In  silence  with  a  reverent  hand; 


Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book    361 

And,  drawing  his  cowl  about  his  face, 
Went  forth  into  the  Stricken  Land. 
And  there  was  joy  in  heaven  that  day,  — 
More  joy  o'er  this  forlorn  old  friar 
Than  over  fifty  sinless  men 
Who  never  struggled  with  desire! 

What  deeds  he  did  in  that  dark  town, 
What  hearts  he  soothed  with  anguish  torn, 
What  weary  ways  of  woe  he  trod, 
Are  written  in  the  Book  of  God, 
And  shall  be  read  at  Judgment  Morn. 
The  weeks  crept  on,  when,  one  still  day, 
God's  awful  presence  filled  the  sky, 
And  that  black  vapor  floated  by. 
And,  lo!  the  sickness  past  away. 
With  silvery  clang,  by  thorpe  and  town, 
The  bells  made  merry  in  their  spires. 
Men  kissed  each  other  on  the  street. 
And  music  piped  to  dancing  feet 
The  livelong  night,  by  roaring  fires! 

Then  Friar  Jerome,  a  wasted  shape,  — 
For  he  had  taken  the  Plague  at  last,  — 
Rose  up,  and  through  the  happy  town. 
And  through  the  wintry  woodlands,  past 
Into  the  Convent.   What  a  gloom 
Sat  brooding  in  each  desolate  room! 
What  silence  in  the  corridor! 


362      Sacred  Stories  and  Legends 

For  of  that  long,  innumerous  train 
Which  issued  forth  a  month  before, 
Scarce  twenty  had  come  back  again ! 

Counting  his  rosary  step  by  step, 
With  a  forlorn  and  vacant  air. 
Like  some  unshriven  churchyard  thing, 
The  Friar  crawled  up  the  mouldy  stair 
To  his  damp  cell,  that  he  might  look 
Once  more  on  his  beloved  Book. 

And  there  it  lay  upon  the  stand, 
Open !  —  he  had  not  left  it  so. 
He  grasped  it,  with  a  cry;  for,  lo! 
He  saw  that  some  angelic  hand. 
While  he  was  gone,  had  finished  it! 
There  't  was  complete,  as  he  had  planned! 
There,  at  the  end,  stood  FINIS,  writ 
And  gilded  as  no  man  could  do,  — 
Not  even  that  pious  anchoret, 
Bilfrid,  the  wonderful,  —  nor  yet 
The  miniatore  Ethelwold,  — 
Nor  Durham's  Bishop,  who  of  old 
(England  still  hoards  the  priceless  leaves) 
Did  the  Four  Gospels  all  in  gold. 
And  Friar  Jerome  nor  spoke  nor  stirred, 
But,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  that  word. 
He  past  from  sin  and  want  and  scorn; 
And  suddenly  the  chapel  bells 
Rang  in  the  holy  Christmas-Morn! 


Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book    363 

In  those  wild  wars  which  racked  th«?  land 
Since  then,  and  kingdoms  rent  in  twain. 
The  Friar's  Beautiful  Book  was  lost,  — 
That  miracle  of  hand  and  brain: 
Yet,  though  its  leaves  were  torn  and  tost, 
The  voluitne  was  not  writ  in  vain! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


INDEXES 


SUBJECT  INDEX 

Affection.  Knight's  Toast,  66;  Goblin  Market,  iii;  Richest 
Prince,  242;  Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor  Boy,  246. 

American  History  Stories.  Fountain  of  Youth,  270;  Qui- 
vira,  274;  Pocahontas,  279;  First  Thanksgiving  Day,  281; 
Rodney's  Ride,  283 ;  Paul  Revere's  Ride,  286;  Reuben  James, 
292. 

American  Indians.  White-Footed  Deer,  23;  Quivira,  274; 
Pocahontas,  279;  First  Thanksgiving  Day,  281. 

Animal  Friends.  Story  for  a  Child,  13;  Sparrows,  15;  White- 
Footed  Deer,  23;  Bell  of  Atri,  50;  Two  Church-Builders,  77; 
Beth-Gelert,  214;  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest,  237;  St.  Francis' 
Sermon  to  the  Birds,  317. 

Ants.  Ant  and  the  Cricket,  3. 

Arbor  Day,  see  Trees  and  Arbor  Day. 

Bees.   King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  327. 

Birds  and  Bird  Day.  Sparrows,  15;  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat, 
163 ;  Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird,  164;  Babes  in  the  Wood, 
207;  Parrot,  213;  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest,  237;  King  Edwin's 
Feast,  254;  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs,  310;  St.  Francis'  Sermon 
to  the  Birds,  317;  Abbot  of  Inisfalen,  318. 

Blacksmiths.  Tubal  Cain,  55. 

Boasting.  Gourd  and  the  Palm,  41. 

Charity.  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30;  Woodman  and  the  Sandal 
Tree,  49;  Two  Church-Builders,  77;  Sir  Launfal  and  the 
Leper,  79;  Fairy  Boy,  93;  Good  King  Wenceslas,  313; 
Brother  Hubert,  314;  Legend  of  Toledo,  325;  Abou  Ben 
Adhem,  332;  Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book,  354. 

Chivalry,  see  Knights  and  Ladies. 

Christmas.  Sparrows,  15;  Three  Kings  of  Cologne,  297; 
Babouscka,  298;  Parable  of  St.  Christopher,  301;  Good  King 
Wenceslas,  313;  Brother  Hubert,  314. 

Constancy.  Brown  Dwarf  of  Riigen,  125. 


368  Subject  Index 

Contention.  The  Nibelungen  Treasure,  239. 

Cooperation.   Elm  and  the  Vine,  40. 

Courage  and  Heroism.  Brier-Rose,  58;  Opportunity,  71; 
Jaffar,  73;  Worme  of  Lambton,  132;  St.  George  and  the 
Dragon,  146;  Leak  in  the  Dike,  231;  Napoleon  and  the 
English  Sailor  Boy,  246;  Incident  of  the  French  Camp,  249; 
King  Alfred  the  Harper,  257;  Quivira,  274;  Reuben  James, 
292;  Mighty  Three,  336. 

Crickets.   Ant  and  the  Cricket,  3. 

Cruelty.  Bishop  Hatto,  20;  White-Footed  Deer,  23;  Inchcape 
Rock,  27;  Babes  in  the  Wood,  207. 

Dogs.   Beth-Gelert,  214. 

Dragons.    Worme  of  Lambton,    132;   St.   George   and   the 

Dragon,  146. 
Dwarfs  and  Goblins.  Goblin  Market,  iii;  Brown  Dwarf  of 

Riigen,  125. 

Easter.   Legend  of  Faster  Eggs,  310. 

Emulation.   Richest  Prince,  242. 

English  History  Stories.  King  and  the  Miller  of  Mansfield, 
189;  King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury,  196;  King 
Canute,  251;  King  Edwin's  Feast,  254;  King  Alfred  the 
Harper,  257;  Taillefer  the  Minstrel,  263;  Relief  of  Lucknow, 
267. 

Eternity.  King  Edwin's  Feast,  254;  Monk  of  Helsterbach, 
323- 

Fairies.  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30;  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low, 
85;  Fairy  Folk,  89;  Fairy  Queen,  91;  Fairy  Boy,  93. 

Faith.  Captain's  Daughter,  218;  Alec  Yeaton's  Son,  219; 
Monk  of  Helsterbach,  323;  Rabbi  and  the  Prince,  343. 

Faithfulness.   Beth-Gelert,  214. 

Flag  Day,  see  Memorial  and  Flag  Days. 

Flattery.   King  Canute,  251. 

Forgiveness.  Yussouf,  72;  Harmosan,  75. 

Friendship.  Elm  and  the  Vine,  40;  Jaffar,  73. 

Generosity,  see  Charity  and  Noble-Mindedness. 
Giants.  Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child,  10;  Dorchester  Giant,  83; 
Parable  of  St.  Christopher,  301. 


Subject  Index  369 

God,   Reverence  Towards.   Bismillah,  330;   Rabbi  and  the 

Prince,  343. 
Gratitude.  Jaffar,  73;  Fairy  Boy,  93. 

Happiness  and  Contentment.  Old  Man  Who  Lived  in  a 
Wood,  165;  Enchanted  Shirt,  167;  Richest  Prince,  242. 

Hastiness.    Beth-gelert,  214. 

Hebrew  Stories.  King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  327;  Bismillah, 
330;  Burial  of  Moses,  333;  Mighty  Three,  336;  Vision  of 
Belshazzar,  339;  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  341. 

Heroism,  see  Courage  and  Heroism. 

Horses  and  Famous  Rides.  Bell  of  Atri,  50;  Two  Church- 
Builders,  77;  John  Gilpin,  171;  Rodney's  Ride,  283;  Paul 
Revere's  Ride,  286. 

Hospitality.  Yussouf,  72;  King  and  the  Miller  of  Mansfield, 
189;  Bismillah,  330. 

Humility,  see  Pride  and  Humility, 

Hypocrisy.  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30. 

Indians,  see  American  Indians. 

Influence,  Personal.  Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree,  49. 

July  Fourth.  Rodney's  Ride,  283;  Paul  Revere's  Ride,  286, 

Kindness,  j-if^"  Charity,  aw^/SELF-SACRiFicE  and  Helpfulness. 

Kindness  to  Animals,  see  Animal  Friends. 

Knights  and  Ladies.    Knight's  Toast,  6S;  Glove  and  the 

Lions,  69;  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  146;  Day-Dream,  152; 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  226. 

Labor  Day.  Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child,  lO;  Tubal  Cain,  55; 

Old  Man  Who  Lived  in  a  Wood,  165. 
Laziness.   Sluggard,  6;  White  Stag,  181. 
Lions.  Glove  and  the  Lions,  69. 
Lying,  see  Truth-Telling  and  Lying. 

Memorial  and  Flag  Days.   Opportunity,  71;  Quivira,  274; 

Reuben  James,  292. 
Mother's  Day.  Knight's  Toast,  66;  Napoleon  and  the  English 

Sailor  Boy,  246. 


370  Subject  Index 

Naughtiness.     Story   of   Augustus,   4;   Sluggard,   6;   False 

Alarms,  7;  Charley  the  Story-Teller,  9. 
NoBLE-MiNDEDNESs.    Yussouf,  72;  Harmosan,  75;  Napoleon 

and  the  English  Sailor  Boy,  246;  Mighty  Three,  336. 

Opportunities.  Opportunity,  71;  Harmosan,  75;  White  Stag, 
181;  Rodney's  Ride,  283. 

Peace  Versus  War.  Tubal  Cain,  55;  Battle  of  Blenheim,  243; 

Quivira,  274;  First  Thanksgiving  Day,  281. 
Prayer.    Captain's  Daughter,  218;  Alec  Yeaton's  Son,  219; 

Quivira,  274;  Bismillah,  330. 
Pride    and    Humility.     Two    Church-Builders,    77;    King 

Canute,  25 1 ;  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  341 ;  Rabbi  and  the 

Prince,  343;  King  Robert  of  Sicily,  345. 
Punishment,  see  Retribution. 

Rats  and  Mice.    Bishop  Hatto,  20;  Pied  Piper,  98. 

Repentance.  Yussouf,  72;  Worme  of  Lambton,  132;  King 
Robert  of  Sicily,  345. 

Resourcefulness.   Plucky  Prince,  41;  Harmosan,  75. 

Retribution.  Story  of  Augustus,  4;  False  Alarms,  7;  Greedi- 
ness Punished,  18;  Bishop  Hatto,  20;  White-Footed  Deer, 
23;  Inchcape  Rock,  27;  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30;  Pied  Piper, 
98;  Worme  of  Lambton,  132;  Babes  in  the  Wood,  207;  De- 
struction of  Sennacherib,  341. 

Saints,  Legends  of.  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  146;  Parable 

of  St.   Christopher,   301;  Good   King  Wenceslas,  313;   St. 

Francis'  Sermon  to  the  Birds,  317. 
Scotland,  Stories.    Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30;  Lord  Ullin's 

Daughter,  226. 
Sea-Stories.    Inchcape  Rock,  27;    Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30; 

Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell,  182;  Captain's  Daughter,  218;  Alec 

Yeaton's  Son,  219;  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  222;  Leak  in  the 

Dike,  231. 
Selfishness  and  Greed.  Ant  and  the  Cricket,  3;  Greediness 

Punished,  18;  Bishop  Hatto,  20;  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30; 

Two  Church-Builders,  77;  Nibelungen  Treasure,  239. 
Self-Sacrifice  and  Helpfulness.    Elm  and  the  Vine,  40; 


Subject  Index  371 

Apple-Seed  John,  46;  Brier-Rose,  58;  Opportunity,  71;  En- 
chanted Shirt,  167;  Quivira,  274;  Reuben  James,  292J 
Brother  Hubert,  314;  Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book,  354. 

Thanksgiving.   First  Thanksgiving  Day,  281;  St.  Francis' 

Sermon  to  the  Birds,  317;  Bismillah,  330. 
Thrift.  Ant  and  the  Cricket,  3. 
Treasure  Stories.  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30;  Brown  Dwarf  of 

Riigen,  125;  Nibelungen  Treasure,  239. 
Trees  and  Arbor  Day.  Elm  and  the  Vine,  40;  Gourd  and  the 

Palm,  41 ;  Plucky  Prince,  41 ;  Apple-Seed  John,  46;  Woodman 

and  the  Sandal  Tree,  49;  Brier-Rose,  58. 
Truth-Telling  and  Lying.    False  Alarms,  7;  Charley  the 

Story-Teller,  9;  Fairy  Boy,  93;  Pied  Piper,  98. 

Vain-Glory.  Two  Church-Builders,  "Ji. 

Vanity.  Glove  and  the  Lions,  69. 

Visions  and  Angels.  Two  Church-Builders,  77;  Parable  of 
St.  Christopher,  301;  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs,  310;  Brother 
Hubert,  314;  Bismillah,  330;  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  332;  Vision 
of  Belshazzar,  339;  King  Robert  of  Sicily,  345;  Friar  Jerome's 
Beautiful  Book,  354. 

War  Stories.  Tubal  Cain,  55;  Opportunity,  71;  Harmosan, 
75;  Faithless  Nelly  Gray,  186;  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest,  237; 
Battle  of  Blenheim,  243;  Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor 
Boy,  246;  Incident  of  the  French  Camp,  249;  King  Alfred 
the  Harper,  257;  Taillefer  the  Minstrel,  263;  Relief  of  Luck- 
now,  267;  Reuben  James,  292;  Mighty  Three,  336;  Destruc- 
tion of  Sennacherib,  341. 

Wisdom.  King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  327. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


A  Chieftain,  to  the  Highlands  bound,  226. 

A  famous  King  would  build  a  church,  'j'j. 

A  mock-bird  in  a  village,  164. 

A  monarch  sat,  in  serious  thought,  alone,  343. 

A  parrot,  from  the  Spanish  Main,  213. 

A  silly  young  cricket,  accustomed  to  sing,  3, 

A  story  of  Ponce  de  Leon,  270. 

A  stranger  came  one  night  to  Yussouf's  tent,  72. 

A  well  there  is  in  the  west  country,  202. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!),  332. 

All  their  wealth  and  vast  possessions,  242. 

An  ancient  story  I'll  tell  you  anon,  196. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Governor,  gazing  abroad  on  the  piled-up 

store,  281. 
And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary,  85. 
Around  Assisi's  convent  gate,  317. 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate,  79. 
At  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town,  50. 
Augustus  was  a  chubby  lad,  4. 

Babouscka  sits  before  the  fire,  298. 

Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold,  186. 

Beside  a  sandal  tree  a  woodman  stood,  49. 

Burg  Niedeck  is  a  mountain  in  Alsace,  high  and  strong,  10. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain,  333. 

Charles  was  a  very  wayward  youth,  9. 
Come,  follow,  follow  me,  91. 

Dark  fell  the  night,  the  watch  was  set,  257. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  queer  auld  man,  30. 
Duke  William  the  Norman  spake  out  one  day,  263. 

Far  down  below  the  Christian  captives  pine,  325. 
Forth  from  his  tent  the  patriarch  Abraham  stept,  330. 


Index  of  First  Lines  373 

Francisco  Coronado  rode  forth  with  all  his  train,  274. 
From  out  Cologne  there  came  three  kings,  297. 

Good  King  Wenceslas  looked  out,  313. 

Hamelin  town  's  in  Brunswick,  98. 

Henry,  our  royal  king,  would  ride  a-hunting,  189. 

Holy-thoughted  Brother  Hubert,  314. 

*'How  old  art  thou?"  said  the  garrulous  gourd,  41. 

I  love  contemplating  —  apart,  246. 

In  cloister  Heisterbach  a  youthful  monk,  323. 

In  that  soft  mid-land  where  the  breezes  bear,  283. 

In  the  far-off  land  of  Norway,  15. 

Into  the  woods  three  huntsmen  came,  181. 

It  is  the  joyful  Easter  morn,  132. 

It  was  a  hundred  years  ago,  23. 

It  was  a  summer  evening,  243. 

It  was  an  ancient  monarch,  239. 

It  was  the  cloister  Grabow,  in  the  land  of  Usedom,  18. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus,  222. 

Jaffar,  the  Barmecide,  t-he  good  Vizier,  73. 
John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen,  171. 

King  Canute  was  weary  hearted;  he  had  reigned  for  years  a 

score,  251. 
King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  loved  a  royal  sport,  69. 

Listen,  my  children,  and  ^-ou  shall  hear,  286. 
Little  one,  come  to  my  knee!  13. 

Morning  and  evening.  III. 

No  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea,  27. 
Now  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear,  207. 
Now  the  third  and  fatal  conflict  for  the  Persian  throne  was 
done,  75. 

Of  Hector's  deeds  did  Homer  sing,  146. 
Oh,  that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort!  267. 
Old  Tubal  Cain  was  a  man  of  might,  55. 


374  Index  of  First  Lines 

Once  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Spain,  237. 
One  day  little  Mary  most  loudly  did  call,  7. 

Poor  Johnny  was  bended  well  nigh  double,  46. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane,  345. 

Said  Brier-Rose's  mother  to  the  naughty  Brier-Rose,  58. 

'T  is  the  voice  of  the  sluggard;  I  heard  him  complain,  6. 

'T  was  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast,  182. 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen,  318. 

The  ancient  Barbarossa,  240. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold,  341. 

The  feast  is  o'er!   Now  brimming  wine,  66. 

The  Friar  Jerome,  for  some  slight  sin,  354. 

The  good  dame  looked  from  her  cottage,  231. 

The  King  was  on  his  throne,  339. 

The  King  was  sick.   His  cheek  was  red,  167. 

The  Laird  of  Co  has  left  his  hall,  93. 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea,  163. 

The  pleasant  isle  of  Rugen  looks  the  Baltic  water  o'er,  125. 

The  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound,  214. 

The  summer  and  autumn  had  been  so  wet,  20. 

The  varying  year  with  blade  and  sheaf,  152. 

The  wind  it  wailed,  the  wind  it  moaned,  219. 

There  was  a  Giant  in  time  of  old,  83. 

There  was  a  youthful  scion,  41. 

There  was  an  old  man  who  lived  in  a  wood,  165. 

There  was  feasting  in  the  hall,  254. 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream,  71. 

Three  ships  of  war  had  Preble  when  he  left  the  Naples  shore, 

292. 
To  a  King's  court  a  Giant  came,  301. 
Trinity  bells  with  their  hollow  lungs,  310. 

Up  the  airy  mountain,  89. 
Uphold  my  feeble  branches,  40. 

Watchfires  are  blazing  on  hill  and  plain,  336. 
We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin,  218. 


Index  of  First  Lines  375 

and  broken  sword,  279. 
)n  was  reigning  in  his  glory,  327. 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon,  249. 


Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword,  279. 

When  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory,  327, 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Abbot  of  Inisfalen,  The,  318. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Angel,  332. 

Alec  Yeaton's  Son,  219. 

Ant  and  the  Cricket,  The,  3. 

Apple-seed  John,  46. 

Augustus  who  would  not  have  any  Soup,  The  Story  of,  4. 

Babes  in  the  Wood,  The,  207. 

Babouscka,  298. 

Barbarossa,  240. 

Battle  of  Blenheim,  The,  242. 

Bell  of  Atri,  The,  50. 

Bcth-Gelert ;  or,  The  Grave  of  the  Greyhound,  214. 

liishop,  God's  Judgment  on  a  Wicked,  20. 

Bismillah,  330. 

Brier-Rose,  59. 

Brother  Hubert,  314. 

Brown  Dwarf  of  Riigen,  The,  125. 

Burial  of  Moses,  The,  333. 

Captain's  Daughter,  The,  218. 
Charley,  the  Story-Teller,  9. 

Day-Dream,  The,  152. 
Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  The,  341. 
Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin,  The,  171, 
Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird,  The,  164. 
Dorchester  Giant,  The,  83. 

Elm  and  the  Vine,  The,  40. 
Emperor's  Bird's-Nest,  The,  237. 
Enchanted  Shirt,  The,  167. 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low,  The,  85. 
Fairy  Boy,  The,  93. 


Index  of  Titles  377 


Fairy  Folk,  The,  89. 

Fairy  Queen,  The,  91. 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray,  186. 

False  Alarms,  7. 

First  Thanksgiving  Day,  The,  281. 

Fountain  of  Youth,  The,  270. 

Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book,  354. 

Glove  and  the  Lions,  The,  69. 
Goblin  Market,  iii. 
Good  King  Wenceslas,  313. 
Good  Man  of  Alloa,  The,  30. 
Gourd  and  the  Palm,  The,  41. 
Greediness  Punished,  18. 

Harmosan,  75. 

Inchcape  Rock,  The,  27. 
Incident  of  the  French  Camp,  249. 

JafFar,  73. 

John  Gilpin,  The  Diverting  History  of,  171. 

King  Alfred  the  Harper,  257. 

King  and  the  Miller  of  Mansfield,  The,  189. 

King  Canute,  251. 

King  Edwin's  Feast,  254. 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury,  196. 

King  Robert  of  Sicily,  345. 

King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  327. 

Knight's  Toast,  The,  66. 

Leak  in  the  Dike,  The,  231. 
Legend  of  Easter  Eggs,  The,  3 10. 
Legend  of  Toledo,  A,  325. 
Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  226. 

Mighty  Three,  The,  336. 
Monk  of  Heisterbach,  The,  323. 

Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor  Boy,  246. 
Nibelungen  Treasure,  The,  239. 


378  Index  of  Titles 

Old  Man  who  lived  in  a  Wood,  The,  165. 

Opportunity,  71. 

Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat,  The,  163. 

Parable  of  St.  Christopher,  The,  301. 

Parrot,  The,  213. 

Paul  Revere's  Ride,  286. 

Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  The,  98. 

Plucky  Prince,  The,  41. 

Pocahontas,  279. 

Quivira,  274. 

Rabbi  and  the  Prince,  The,  343. 
Relief  of  Lucknow,  The,  267. 
Reuben  James,  292. 
Richest  Prince,  The,  242. 
Rodney's  Ride,  283. 

St.  Francis'  Sermon  to  the  Birds,  317. 

St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  146. 

Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper,  79. 

Sluggard,  The,  6. 

Sparrows,  The,  15. 

Story  for  a  Child,  A,  13. 

Story  of  Augustus  who  would  not  have  any  Soup,  The,  4. 

Taillefer  the  Minstrel,  263. 
Three  Kings  of  Cologne,  The,  297. 
Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child,  The,  10. 
Tubal  Cain,  55. 
Two  Church-Builders,  The,  77. 

Vision  of  Belshazzar,  The,  339. 

Well  of  St.  Keyne,  The,  202. 

White  Stag,  The,  181. 

White-footed  Deer,  The,  23. 

Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree,  The,  49. 


Index  of  Titles  379 


Worme  of  Lambton,  The,  132. 
Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The,  222. 

Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell,  The,  18a. 
Yussouf,  72. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey. 

Alec  Yeaton's  Son,  219. 

Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book,  354. 
Alexander,  Cecil  Frances. 

The  Burial  of  Moses,  333. 
Allingham,  William. 

The  Fairy  Folk,  89. 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen,  318. 

BOYESEN,    HjALMAR    HjORTH. 

Brier-Rose,  58. 
Brooks,  C.  T. 

The  Monk  of  Heisterbach,  323. 
Brooks,  Elbridge  Streeter. 

Rodney's  Ride,  283. 
Browning,  Robert. 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  98. 

Incident  of  the  French  Camp,  249. 
Bryant,  May. 

The  Plucky  Prince,  41. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen. 

The  White-footed  Deer,  23. 

The  Elm  and  the  Vine,  40. 

The  Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree,  49. 

The  Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird,  164. 
Butterworth,  Hezekiah. 

The  Fountain  of  Youth,  270. 
Byron,  Lord. 

The  Vision  of  Belshazzar,  339. 

The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  341. 

Campbell,  Thomas. 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  226. 

Napoleon  and  the  English  Sailor  Boy,  246. 


Index  of  Authors  381 

Cary,  Phcebe. 

The  Leak  in  the  Dike,  231. 
Chadwick,  John  W. 

King  Edwin's  Feast,  254. 
Child,  Lydia  Maria. 

Apple-Seed  John,  46. 
CowPER,  William. 

The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin,  171. 

DULCKEN,   H.   W. 

The  Nibelungen  Treasure,  239. 

Barbarossa,  240. 

The  Richest  Prince,  242. 

Field,  Eugene. 

The  White  Stag,  181. 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne,  297. 
Fields,  James  Thomas. 

The  Captain's  Daughter,  219. 

Gilbert,  W.  S. 

The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell,  182. 
Guiterman,  Arthur. 

Quivira,  274. 

Harvey,  James  Clarence, 

The  Rabbi  and  the  Prince,  343. 
Hay,  John. 

The  Enchanted  Shirt,  167. 
Hoffmann,  Heinrich. 

The  Story  of  Augustus  who  would  not  have  any  Soup,  4, 
Hogg,  James. 

The  Good  Man  of  Alloa,  30. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell. 

The  Dorchester  Giant,  84. 
Hood,  Thomas. 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray,  186. 
HowiTT,  Mary. 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low,  85. 
Hunt,  Leigh. 

The  Glove  and  the  Lions,  69. 

Jaffar,  73. 


582  Index  of  Authors 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt. 

The  Parable  of  St.  Christopher,  301. 

Kerner,  Andreas  J. 
The  Richest  Prince,  243. 

Lear,  Edward. 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat,  163. 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth. 

The  Bell  of  Atri,  50. 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  222. 

The  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest,  237. 

Paul  Revere's  Ride,  286. 

St.  Francis'  Sermon  to  the  Birds,  317. 

King  Robert  of  Sicily,  345. 
Lowell,  James  Russell. 

Yussouf,  72. 

Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper,  79. 
Lowell,  Robert  Traill  Spence. 

The  Relief  of  Lucknow,  267. 

Mackay,  Charles. 

Tubal  Cain,  55. 
MiJLLER,  Karl  Wilhelm. 

The  Monk  of  Heisterbach,  323. 

O'Brien,  Fitz-James. 

The  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs,  310. 
O'Keeffe,  Adelaide. 

False  Alarms,  7. 

Percy's  Reliques. 

The  Fairy  Queen,  91. 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury,  196. 

The  Babes  in  the  Wood,  207. 
Preston,  Margaret  Junkin. 

The  First  Thanksgiving  Day,  281. 
Proudfitt,  David  L. 

Bismillah,  330. 

Roche,  James  Jeffrey. 
Reuben  James,  292. 


Index  of  Authors  38^ 


Rosas,  Jose. 

The  Elm  and  the  Vine,  40. 

The  Woodman  and  the  Sandal  Tree,  49. 

The  Donkey  and  the  Mocking-Bird,  164. 
RossETTi,  Christina. 

Goblin  Market,  iii. 

RUCKERT,    FrIEDRICH. 

Greediness  Punished,  i8. 
Barbarossa,  240. 

Saxe,  John  G. 
The  Two  Church-Builders,  77. 
King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  327. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter. 

The  Knight's  Toast,  66. 
Sill,  Edward  Rowland. 

Opportunity,  71. 
Skeat,  W.  W. 

Taiilefer  the  Minstrel,  263. 
Southey,  Robert. 
God's  Judgment  on  a  Wicked  Bishop,  20. 
The  Inchcape  Rock,  27. 
The  Well  of  St.  Keyne,  202. 
The  Battle  of  Blenheim,  243. 
Spen'cer,  William  Robert. 

Beth-Gelert;  or,  The  Grave  of  the  Greyhound,  214. 
Sterling,  John. 

King  Alfred  the  Harper,  257. 

Taylor,  Bayard. 

A  Story  for  a  Child,  13. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord. 

The  Day-Dream,  152. 
Thackeray,  William  Makepeace. 

King  Canute,  251. 

Pocahontas,  279. 
Thaxter,  Celia. 

The  Sparrows,  15. 
Thomas,  Edith  M. 

Babouscka,  298. 


384  Index  of  Authors 

Trench,  Richard  Chenevix. 
Harmosan,  75. 
A  Legend  of  Toledo,  325. 

Uhland,  Ludwig. 
The  White  Stag,  181. 
Taillefer  the  Minstrel,  263. 

Von  Chamisso,  Adelbert. 

The  Toy  of  the  Giant's  Child,  10. 

Watson,  J. 

The  Worme  of  Lambton,  132. 
Watts,  Isaac. 

The  Sluggard,  6. 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf, 

The  Brown  Dwarf  of  Rugen,  125, 


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